


Laid Bare

by LillyoftheAlley



Series: Laid Bare [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 04:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 40,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5570227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LillyoftheAlley/pseuds/LillyoftheAlley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the Fallout Kinkmeme: A crowd forces Nick Valentine to strip in an effort to dehumanize the synth.  The event, the aftermath, and a mystery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfic in fifteen years. Be gentle, and be patient. I'm getting back into the swing of things, but I'm going to try to update at least every couple of days. No idea how long this'll be. No Beta reader, so be forgiving, too.

It was nearly nightfall in Sanctuary when Trashcan Carla's Brahmin lumbered into town. Nick Valentine didn't look up from where he sat, tightening the bolts on his wrist. He didn't need ammo, and it had been a long time since he needed food. A pack of cigarettes crossed his mind, but in the end, he decided his last few were plenty. So when she called out to him, he looked up with interest. 

She had the crags and wrinkles of a dame who'd spent her life in the sun. She looked like five miles of bad road, and had a voice to match.“Got somethin' fer ya, Nick.” 

“Thanks, Carla,” he said, taking a folded piece of paper from her.

She spat. “I ain't a mail carrier. Tell whoever sent that. You tell 'em.” 

He didn't take offense. There was something comforting about Carla inasmuch as she seemed to hate everyone equally with no special consideration given to whether or not the recipient of her scorn was human. “Will do, miss,” he murmured, then hesitated. “'Whoever' sent it?”

“'nother trader gave it to me. Said it was fer Nick the Synth.” She turned away with a sniff. “Coulda bought somethin'.” But whether this parting comment was for him or the other trader was a mystery for another day, as Carla disappeared around the corner, and the little slip of paper was in his hand. 

The note was anything but simple: A time and place, a scrawled _urgent!_ , a dash, and an E. And on the back, _come alone_. Two different handwritings. One was certainly not Ellie's. The blocky, all caps time and place – Noon, at a wrecked underpass north of the city – were a man's handwriting. And while he knew Ellie's writing (calm and even, with the little loops in her letters that told him she'd learned to write in Diamond City's only school), there was a haste that made him unsure of the other two notes. The writing tore through the paper twice, and the ink was smudged and spotted. But there were those little loops.

He didn't like it. But what could he do? Ellie said come alone, Ellie said urgent and nothing else. Ellie was in trouble. And Nick specialized in that very thing.

He wanted to tell Nate. Nearly told him as Nate walked out of the house the last survivor of Vault 111 claimed as a place to hang his hat. But Preston called for help with a generator, and Nate had excused himself with a smile. Piper was back in Diamond City. What he wouldn't give at times like this for a working telephone. Cases had been a heck of a lot easier back when chasing down a lead took two phone calls and a lunch break. 

An all-night walk gave him plenty of time to worry. He hoped to a God who'd long ago stopped taking requests that Ellie was alright. Hoped Ellie just had an urgent case for him. Hoped the note had been overkill. Hoped she was right as rain. Hoped she'd made him worry for nothing. 

“Do you think it's okay, Nick?” he muttered to himself as he walked, watching the sun rise higher in the sky. “No, Nicky. But I hope it is.” 

 

* * * * *

 

The scene stank from the moment he stepped into it. Too many hiding places. Not enough Ellie.

He crouched low, his gun out, and took a look around. An old overpass – was he under an overpass, or in an underpass? He never could remember the difference – sheltered the area from prying eyes, and fallen rubble and off-ramps gave the area a labyrinthine look. A sharp embankment was the only way up or down without jumping, so he shuffled down the steep hill, making as little noise as he could manage. 

It turned out not to matter a whole lot, of course, because when he crept around the corner, there she was, in the ham-like fists of a man he mentally dubbed Big Burly. A woman with bright red hair turned a rifle on him in a way that suggested she knew how to use it, and a third, a gangly teenager, held an old holo-recorder. 

Red seemed to be in charge, and when she said _drop the gun,_ he dropped it. How could he do otherwise when they had Ellie in Big Burly's grip? She kicked the gun away, and he winced as he heard it clatter and scrape over concrete and rubble. 

Red's lips, dry and chapped, curved in a nasty smile. “So that's _it?_ Diamond City's pet Synth turns up, and _this_ is the most it can manage?” Red said with a little huff of laughter. 

“There are traps you can avoid, and traps you have to walk into. When someone you care about is in the trap already... Well, you dance on in.”

“Dance? Sure. Do a little dance for me, Synth!”

“You know, miss, I'll have to pass. My dance card is all full up for the evening and I--”

“Hurt her.” The words came out whipcrack-quick, and in an instant, Big Burly yanked Ellie downward by her hair, and with a strangled shriek, Nick's secretary's knees hit the ground.

_“Stop!”_ His voice echoed strangely in the underpass, but Burly halted mid-swing as he started to drag a gasping Ellie forward on her knees. “I'll cooperate with whatever it is you people want. Just don't... don't hurt her.”

“With _anything_ we want?” said Red. She poked him in the back of the neck with the barrel of her gun. “Take off that hat, Synth. Let everyone see your face out of the shadows. You think you're fooling people with the coat, and the hat, and the office in a dark alley, but you _aren't._ ” Her voice rose to a scream at the end, and Nick's eyes met Ellie's. She was a tough gal. But she was scared. He hoped it was her own life she was scared for, and not his tired old hide. But her lips moved. _Nick, no._

If he had a stomach, he would have been sick to it.

“Now,” said Red. “But no sudden moves.”

“Far be it from me to refuse to doff my hat in front of a lady.” He reached up slowly, and tipped his hat forward until it tumbled from his fingertips to the ground. “One hatless detective,” he said. “I hope you don't mind bald men, Red.”

“Get a good shot of his face,” she snapped at Awkward Kid. “Fuck, he's ugly.” She shifted behind him to look into the camera. “This is the face of a Synth,” she says. “He wants to be human, but he isn't. He wants to be one of us, but he isn't. The Institute wants to put them among us, wants them to spy and kidnap and _replace us,_ and we are _letting one live in the heart of Diamond City._ ” She jabbed him with the gun. “Take off your coat.”

“Nick!” cried Ellie. 

But what could he do? He nodded to her. “It's okay, sweetheart. My pride can take a little ding for my favorite gal.” He wished he could take it back the moment he said it.

“You're _friends?_ ” said Red. “She doesn't just work for you, huh? That's rich.” She kicked Nick in the leg. “Do it.”

He shrugged the coat off his right shoulder, then his left. “Well, all right. But I warn you, the trenchcoat is what gives detectives their abilities, so I hope you don't need me to solve a crime after all of this.”

“I don't need you to do a damn thing after this, Synth. The only thing I need Synths to do is die.” She shifted again. “Take a gooood look. It wears a suit. Like a person. It talks like a person. But it isn't.”  
“I saw a dog wearing a bandanna and a little sweater once,” said Nick, looking directly directly into the camera for the first time. “No point, but it was cute as the dickens. Just thought folks could do with thinking about something more cheerful.”

“You're the dog,” she said, and he could feel her breath hot on his ear. “Faithful to the humans who trained you, but dangerous. Are you a loyal dog, or a wild dog, Synth?” 

Silence. “Nick, you don't have to answer her,” whispered Ellie. Her high-topped sneakers scrabbled in the rocky scree, and she shrieked again as Burly yanked backward on her scarf. 

“I'm not a—Ellie! God, don't-”

“God? God didn't make you. The Institute--”

He twisted away, hit the ground and rolled, coming up near Ellie. A bullet caught him in the shoulder, and Ellie gasped. For a sickening moment, he was sure he'd caused her to be hit. He scrambled in the loose gravel and broken concrete, and threw himself at Burly, bringing his fists down as hard as he could on his knee. The big man staggered, but didn't let go of Ellie. Nick felt a little flicker of hope when his secretary brought her foot up and back, jamming her heel into Burly's bits and pieces. 

Burly bellowed. Nick ducked as the hand that didn't hold Ellie flailed, and again he brought down his fists, one cupped around the other onto the bruiser, this time on his elbow to break his hold.

“Ahhhh NICK!” Ellie screamed. Aghast, he froze. He'd hurt her. But how to uncouple Burly's hand from Ellie's hair?

But the scream wasn't because of him. It was for him. The world went white for an instant, and when his vision returned, it was swimming, and curiously incomplete. He couldn't focus. Some kind of feedback? But there were the memories of the real Nick Valentine, and they suggested this felt like nothing so much in the world as getting his bell rung. 

He tried to get his feet under him, and while they obeyed, they weren't exactly operating on their usual time table. 

His name was being said. Repeatedly. He looked down, and found himself to have gotten to his knees. But there he stopped, because Ellie's arms were wrapped around him. His gaze traveled up. Burly had her by the hair. Again? Still? No way of knowing. A barrel pressed against his cheek with a clink, which seemed to suggest there was a fair sight less skin there then there had been a few moments before. 

“Stand. Up.” Red's chilly tone was a lot more worrying than her angry one had been.

“Don't you hurt him!” Ellie tightened her arms around him again. 

“No, sweetheart. Let go, doll.” He disentangled himself from her as gently as he could. There was blood on her cheek, and he touched it with a flesh fingertip. “I'm sorry I got you into this.”

“Touching,” said Red dryly. “We'll have to edit this for length.”

“Edit it to make me seem like the boogeyman you want me to be, you mean?” he said dryly. But he stood.

“Take off your tie and then your shirt.”

“You're kidding me.”

“Take off. Your tie. And then. Your shirt.” 

“Let Ellie go, or you'll have to take them off my cold dead body yourself.”

She stared at him for a long few moments, then nodded. “Let her go,” she said, and her voice was sickly sweet. 

Burly's free hand came up with a knife. “No,” Nick whispered. “No!” The knife glided upward, caressing Ellie's neck, nicking her ear. And then it sliced through those long, chestnut locks, leaving Ellie shorn almost to her scalp in the back, and longer in the sides when she sagged forward into Nick's arms. “Shhh, shhh, shh, sweetheart. Gonna make sure you're okay.”

“Nick,” she hiccoughed, and tears streaked her dirty face. “Make sure _you're_ okay.”

“Ellie,” he said softly. “Run.”

“Your shirt, Valentine.”

“Oh, so I get a name now, Red?” He fumbled at the buttons. His hands had never had any trouble with them before. Must be the blow to the head. Must be. “I don't usually do this on the first date, you know, but you're a special girl, Red.” The last button came off in his strangely clumsy fingers, and clattered to the ground. 

“You look like a corpse as much as you look like a Synth,” Red sneered. “Grey and tattered. God, you're a filthy old thing. Why haven't you just died yet?” She glanced down, and before she even said it, he knew what came next. “Pants.”

His damn fingers wouldn't work. “What, no quip?” asked Red. “Don't tell me you're _modest_. I know just as well as you do that you just don't want the world reminded of the monster under the suit.”

There was a joke there. But nothing came to his lips. He broke the button off, this time on purpose in his frustration. His thumbs hooked into the waistband of his pants.

“Ellie,” he said softly. “I can't help but notice you're still here.”

She met his eyes—Well. His eye, he was beginning to suspect from the way his vision cut just to the left of his nose. Her cheeks and nose were nearly as red as the blood on her knees and her ears, and her gaze darted sideways, away from him. Strangely, that hurt almost as much as the rest, knowing even Ellie couldn't stand to look at him. “Nick, I am not leaving you here with-”

_“Ellie GET OUT RIGHT THE HELL NOW!”_

Her eyes met his one last time.

And then Ellie Perkins turned and ran.

Nick's profound relief lasted as long as it took her to scramble over the embankment. “Find her when we're done here,” said Red.

He didn't have the energy to yell, to accuse her of breaking her promise. All he could think was that he had to stretch this out as much as possible, that he had to give Ellie time to get away. But the well of jokes had run dry, and his options seemed slim.

“You know, I always assumed it would be a broad who did me in. I'd hoped to tie up a few loose ends here and there, and I sure wish I could apologize to Ellie again for getting her into this, but-”

“You have five seconds, or we put a bullet in whatever passes for your skull and put the next one in the girl.”

“Pushy,” he says. “Very pushy.” 

And with that, he kicks off his shoes, and then his trousers. 

He managed to keep his head up when her gaze ran down him. “Are we embarrassing you? I'd heard you were an old-fashioned sort of monster.” When he didn't respond, she scooped up a fist-sized piece of concrete with rebar sticking out, and flung it at him. It hit his wounded shoulder, and he flinched. “Look at what they programmed you to do,” she said wonderingly. “Flinch when you're hurt. Be embarrassed when you're humiliated. That's the danger. That they'll replace us and nobody will know.”

“If you prick us, do we not bleed?” asked Nick.

“What?” said Red. She waved to the awkward kid, whose mouth had been hanging open the entire time. Nick mentally renamed him Gomer. “Cut. We have more than enough.”

“If you wrong us,” intoned a new voice, “shall we not revenge?” And in the silence that followed, there was the _slide-click_ of a bolt-action rifle. 

Red looked up. But her rifle swung toward Nick, and in the instant before she pulled the trigger, he had the presence of mind to bellow, “NATE! Save Ellie!”

There was the sharp report of rifle fire, and then darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers through, I dunno, a while? Spoilers for Nick's history. Again, no beta-reader, but I did read this chapter aloud to my dogs. Great Pyrenees are lousy beta-readers, but the German Shepherd seemed moderately interested.

The old Nick – the real Nick – had once dated a real literate girl, a professor of English. She told him if a story had more than one waking up scene and wasn't specifically themed around dreams or consciousness, she would put the story aside forever. _Never look back on lazy literature,_ she'd said. 

He'd argued with her. Every story starts with waking up. Every day, and every realization was an awakening. Why shouldn't a book get as much consideration as a man? 

She'd laughed that that, crawled into his lap and kissed him. _You just have to pick apart everything, don't you?_ she'd said, and called him her Sam Spade. Then she'd gotten downright alliterative, and said that he was her sexy, sandy-haired Sam Spade. And those sibilant sounds had tickled his neck as she inched closer, until her lips rasped against his stubble. 

He wished he knew what had happened, how it had ended, but he could guess. He'd picked at it until it fell apart, he supposed, like everything else. He never had been able to leave a stone unturned, a secret undiscovered, a good thing untested. And sooner or later his English professor with her tight fuzzy sweaters and her reading aloud as the fell asleep—sooner or later-- 

She woke up.

* * *

Nick woke three times before consciousness took. The first time there was yelling, there was a woman crying, there was a light so bright it was more than the highly tuned sensors in his eyes could process. 

“He's awake! Fuck! He shouldn't be-” And there was a curse, and a clang, and the glaring light swung wildly. 

A scramble. 

And then pain. 

* * *

Senses didn't quite quite make sense to him like they once had. He could taste with his tongue, tell salty from sweet, but he could taste the difference between iron and steel, too, something the old Nick's memories offered no thoughts on. He could feel. Happiness and sadness, regret, longing, nostalgia, fear, and hope He had sensor bundles, a broad expanse of synthetic nerves, and his brain read a gunshot wound as pain, and a warm hand in his as pleasure. 

There was no pain on his second awakening. There was a German Shepherd's long snout pushed into his armpit, and the saddest brown eyes a dog could bring to bear. Not insubstantial amounts of puppy angst were being directed at him, and Nick was moved enough to slowly lift a hand and lay it on the dog's head. But the motion was more than he had the energy for, and unconsciousness dragged him back into its inky embrace. 

 

* * * 

The third time there was dim light through the cracks in a wall, a smell of burnt circuitry, and the slide of moderately clean sheets over bare skin. 

His first impulse was to hunker down. Panic seemed to still have ahold of him to some degree or another, but on the door hung his hat, his coat, his clothes, and even his gun. Distantly, there was the sound of people talking, of water over rocks, of a forge being stoked, and food being cooked. He was in Sanctuary. 

Nick rolled, got an elbow under him and looked around. On the floor Nate lay curled up with Dogmeat, whose wet nose blew twin puddles of condensation against the floor. Nate's hand lay on the dog's flank, knuckles and nails crusted with black synthetic blood. A burn on one hand and a discarded bit of circuitry accounted for the smell. 

On the chair lay Ellie's scarf, and for a terrible instant, Nick wracked his brains to remember if she'd still been wearing it when she'd finally run. When he'd bellowed at her. When he'd frightened her. 

She had, he decided. 

“Ellie,” he whispered. “God.”

Nate stirred, made an inquisitive sound, and blond hair slipped over his eyes. Sleep turned to panic in a heartbeat, and Nate scrambled to his hands and knees, earning a reproachful sigh from Dogmeat. “Nick!”

“Nate. Now we've both both blurted out a name. Nate, is Ellie--?”

Nate sat back on his heels. “She's fine. A little bruised and abraded, but other than that, she's just shaken up and worried about you. Nick--?” he began.

“I'm fine.” He said it without thinking, and Nate, bless his formerly frozen head, took it as exactly what it was intended to be: _I don't want to talk about it._

He lifted a hand to his face, and to his surprise, found skin on his temple and cheekbone. “What the...?”

Nate grinned. “Not bad, huh? Turns out that there are just enough organics in your skin to mean fast work with a topically applied stimpack, and okay, a little wonderglue knitted it all back together. It's... a little different color, though. Sort of a medium tan right where it meets.”

“Huh,” said Nick. “Got my bell rung real good, too, huh?” He lifted his hand in front of his bad eye, and waved it. 

“That's. . .fixable. It's a connection issue mostly, not an issue with the eye itself. But you're tricky enough to work on that I wanted you awake for it.” 

“That's me,” said Nick. “A tricky dick.”

Silence. A strained cough from Nate. “Not my finest turn of phrase, huh?” said Nick. “What I wouldn't give for a smoke.”

“Sure.” Nate rose, and rummaged through Nick's coat. He tossed the synth the pack, and extracted his own lighter from his pocket. But he didn't hand it over, so Nick did what you were supposed to do when any beautiful creature offered to light your cigarette. He leaned in, cupped his hand around the lighter Nate proffered, and took a drag.

“So, why smoke?” asked Nate, his voice quiet. 

“Just like it, I guess. Something to do. Besides, it looks good with the fedora.”

And there it was again. The very thing he didn't want to— _couldn't_ talk about. 

Mercifully, Nate let it lie. “Fair enough. Look. I'm going to have to do some more work on you. Getting up and around isn't going to fly. There are all sorts of loose connections, so I'd really prefer if you stayed here. But I swore to Ellie that I'd call her in as soon as you were up to seeing guests.” He handed Nick his shirt and slacks. “You up to facing her? I keep telling her you'll be fine, but I don't think she'll believe me until she can see you with her own eyes.”

Nick snorted. “I've told her often enough that's the only kind of proof you _should_ believe. Glad she listened.” He pressed his lips to the cigarette as he pulled on the shirt, trying not to meet Nate's eyes, trying not to think about the moment when the shirt came off, and Ellie couldn't bear to look at him. 

God, he was a sad old thing. 

“Can't keep a lady waiting, can I? Gimme five, and send her on in.” He hesitated. “And Nate? Thanks.”

Nate favored him with a crooked smile. “Anytime.”

“Never again, with any luck,” said Nick, but Nate was already out the door, Dogmeat on his heels.

Smoke curled up and through the light between the boards, ephemeral ribbons in the light, and Nick Valentine was alone in the silence that came next.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm beginning to suspect this is going to be much longer than I originally anticipated. Yay!?

Ellie arrived in three minutes, just as Nick was sitting back down with a groan. His hat and coat still hung on a nail on the rickety wall, and damned if Red hadn't been right—he felt underdressed, exposed without them. But if Nate was going to be back to rummage around in his wiring in a matter of minutes, it hardly seemed right to make the man wait on Nick to undress again. 

And if he was being real honest? He'd pretty much had enough of that sort of mess.

Ellie walked in with her head held high, her lips pressed into a line too firm to be accidental. Her hair, formerly rolled into a secretarial updo so classic that he'd wondered if she'd copied it from a magazine or a comic book. Now, someone had shaped the sides and front into a pixie cut to match the back. Bandages showed under the hem of her skirt, and the faded roses of the dress transitioned into red rosettes of blood seeping through her bandaged knees. 

The fierce set to her features lasted about two steps in the door. Then her lips drew in and down, and her eyes crinkled at the corners, and it didn't take a damn gumshoe to recognize his generally stalwart secretary was about to engage in a Real Big Cry. 

“Aaa-aah. No. None of that, doll. How about you sit down here with me instead?” He held out a hand to her, and was relieved when she took it without hesitation. He drew her in and down, and she tucked her head against his shoulder, which was a surprise. But what was life without surprises? There were worse ones than a beautiful woman leaning on your shoulder.

“Nate said you were just a little banged up, Ellie. He wasn't telling a little fib to make me feel better, was he?”

She huffed a little laugh, and wiped at eyes that were in danger of spilling over. “Real funny, Nick. I was going to ask you the same thing.” She drew back, and stared at him. “Huh. Nate did a good job stitching you up.” She watched him a moment longer. “He said he'd fix your eye, too. It's not tracking right, like... like there's a little hitch in a servo, or whatever you call it.” 

“I'll be fine. Worst case scenario, I get an eyepatch, right?”

“The ladies love those,” she said, but the joke was feeble, and her gaze darted down, and to the right. He'd been in enough interrogations to know shame when he saw it, to know a fib when he saw one. 

But what else was there to do but play along? “Sure do. I'd have to get one that matched the hat, right?”

“Right,” she said. “Right.”

She worried at the hem of her skirt, rubbed it between thumb and forefinger, and it was a good thing Ellie didn't play poker because ten times out of ten it meant she wanted to tell him something he wouldn't want to hear. Would she quit? He couldn't blame her if she did.

“Nick?” she asked after the silence stretched a little too long.

“Ellie,” he said. “Out with it.”

“Nick,” she whispered. “I wrote the note. They made me do it. Said they'd hurt me, said they'd hurt _you_. But they swore nobody'd get hurt if I just wrote it, said they just wanted to meet with you.” She pulled in her breath with a hitch, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. “I didn't... I didn't want them to hurt you. Didn't want them to... if I'd known they were... I would have...”

“Sweetheart,” he said, and he kept his tone as soft as he could. “You did everything right. I knew it was a trap. You kept them from hurting you too bad, right?” And at her jerky nod, he continued, “So they just battered you around a little. You're a tough gal. You know I've been in worse situations. So you wrote the note to keep your skin intact. And you ran when I told you to—more or less.” He hesitated. “Ellie, I'm sorry I yelled.”

“You're sorry you _yelled?_ ” she said, and suddenly there was heat in her voice. “Not sorry you sent me away, but sorry you yelled? Nick, you can sure be an idiot for such a smart guy.” She sniffled again, rubbed at her eyes with the back of her bandaged hands. “God, Nick. They were about to kill you, just for what you are – which is damn well _not_ the same as _who_ you are. Or as the things you've done or the people you've helped and _how dare they_ hurt you!” The words got louder, but the tears didn't stop. 

“Ellie-” he started.

“Don't you 'Ellie' me, Nick Valentine! I'm so mad I could spit! After everything you've done for people, after finding their missing girlfriends, their sons and daughters, after tracking down their stolen caps and their, their, their stupid heirlooms, that they should—what's that for?” she asked, staring at the handkerchief he tucked into her hand. 

“Well, if you spit, it seems rude to do it in Nate's room after all his help.”

She stared at him, and this time her gaze didn't waver. “Oh. Uhm. Hah.” She dabbed at her eyes and her cheeks, and _hmmmed_. “Nick, I'm sorry. I just. I'm just so _mad_.” 

“I'm too tired to be mad, so you can be mad for both of us, right?” He rubbed at his jaw. Just another meaningless habit from a dead man. “Mad is good. It can keep you going when you're scared. But don't let it take you over, Ellie. You're too good for that.” He took her hand, still searching her face for that revulsion, still picking at the wound on his heart. “What happened after I got knocked out? Do you know?”

“I heard the rifle go off, so I stopped running, and I-- Nicky, don't be mad, but I ran back with the biggest rock I could lift so I could bash that smug dame's brains in.”

Don't be mad? He wasn't mad. He was cold, he was terrified. “Ellie,” he said carefully. “The loyalty is sweet, but your survival instincts leave something to be desired.”

“Ohhh, she had a dang rifle, Nick. If that shot was her killing you, there was no way I was far enough away that she couldn't have popped a bullet in the back of my head. Don't look like that. You did everything you could to get me out of there; I didn't want to go. You're my boss, not my minder.” She scrubbed at her face. “Mainly, you're my friend, and it's not fair to ask me to abandon a friend just because you're my boss. If that makes sense.”

“None of this makes sense, doll. Not this world, not this case—if it even is one—and not you trying to trade your life away for mine.”

“Oh, and you can try and do the same for me?” She crossed her arms, and looked down her nose. “Men.”

There was nothing for that but to laugh. She had it all wrong, but what could he say? “What happened after you grabbed your rock, sweetheart?”

She took a deep breath, and she told him. 

* * *

It went down like this, more or less: 

_Red had taken exception to Nate's dramatics, and without preamble, had pumped two rounds into Nick, knocking him into sleepy-time land._

_Ellie had found her rock, and against all common sense, had run_ toward _the sound of gunfire, armed only with rubble._

_And Nate, bless him, had put two rounds of his own into Red. With the first, he'd winged her, taking out the arm that cradled the rifle. With the second, he'd hit her in the hip, and she'd dropped with a scream._

_Ellie'd seen Nate drop into the underpass, and by the time Ellie got there, there had been a third shot, and Red's head was even redder. Big Burly was charging Nate, and from the top of the drop-off, Ellie had wholloped him with the rock. It had probably been as much a surprise for Ellie as it had been for him, but it hit him square on top of the head, and only forward momentum kept him barreling toward Nate with a bellow and a crash._

_From there, Ellie got a little fuzzy on the details. A struggle, a handgun—Nick's discarded handgun, actually—and Big Burly dropped, leaving Nate to climb out from under the overgrown thug._

_By the time he managed, Ellie dropped down into the underpass and run to Nick. And here her story got a little moist, a little tearful. She described pulling him into her lap, like she could keep him warm, like she could stay the steady ooze of synthetic blood, like her kiss to his forehead would awaken him like the princess in a pre-war fairy tale._

_He'd twitched, apparently. Repeatedly opened and closed his hand, a mechanical clicking motion. And over and over he'd said, “Nate? Nate? Nate?” in a tone Ellie described as sad and bewildered, until Nate had crouched next to them and pulled a wire, and with a little sigh, Nick had laid still._

* * *

“From there, Nate was just real quiet,” Ellie said. “He just sat down and put his head in his hands for a minute. Then he gave me your gun and hat and things, and wrapped you up in your coat, and started walking.”

And that fell in the category of things to worry about later. “We're teaching you to shoot,” Nick said. “No buts. If me having a target on my back puts you in danger, it's the least I can do.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Sounds hard on the manicure, Nick,” she teased. “But if it'll make you happy--”

“It will. The only thing right now that'll make me happier is to know you're going to get some rest. You look tired, doll.”

“Yeah,” she said, and there it was again, that down and to the right gaze coupled with the fiddling with her hem. 

“Darlin', we've gotta talk about your poker face. You're worried about something you aren't telling me.” And there was something bothering him, too, something that wasn't adding up in her account.

“We were walking back, hurrying along, and Nate was quiet, which was fine by me, because I was half-dazed, and suddenly I say to Nate, 'Where'd the kid go?' And Nate--”

And suddenly he knew the answer, could see the angle from which Nate must have dropped down, could see the kid, Gomer, with his open mouth and his holo-recorder, half-hidden under an outcropping to stay out of Red's line of fire. And before Ellie can, Nick closes his eyes and finishes it for her. 

“And Nate says, 'What kid?'”


	4. Chapter 4

“When I was in the service,” said Nate, “I wasn't exactly expecting that making a move from working on the protrectrons to training as a medic was ever going to come together quite this way. Nora thought I was nuts. Said I only had a couple of years left; why make a move that was going to put me closer to the front lines when I was good at what I did? Didn't talk to me for the better part of two weeks. But, I don't know, it just seemed like the right thing to do.” He peered at Nick's neck, holding a soldering iron. “Left and down, please. Thanks.”

“With all respect to Nora, I'm glad you did. All of this would be a lot tougher for you—impossible, even—without that background. You're a handy guy with a wrench.”

“Why, Nick, you flatterer. I bet you say that to all the guys practically breathing down your neck.” The soldering iron sparked, and Nate absently brushed a smoldering bit of smut off the back of his wrist. “Just another second, and I'll have that wire stabilized. There. How's that feel?”

“Like a million caps.” Nick rolled his shoulder, checking the servos, and flexed his fingers. “That everything?” 

“Everything I can get to right now. I need a minute to grab some lunch and stretch. Getting a crick in my neck.”

“I know the feeling. I'll walk with you if you don't mind. It'd be good to get a little air,” said Nick, standing. 

“You mean grab pack of cigarettes from Carla before Hancock gets them all.” He rummaged in his bag, and tossed a half-empty pack to Nick, who caught them out of the air. “Good. No loss of hand-eye coordination, at least.”

“I don't think my depth perception is linked to having two eyes, but who knows. Could be a lucky catch.” Nick lifted the pack in a small salute. “Thanks. Didn't know you partook.”

“Not since I was seventeen and sneaking a quick smoke behind the science building at school. Getting dragged to my mom by my ear was a memorable experience. She taught history at my school, and one of her teacher friends caught me back there with my 'hooligan friends' in our leather jackets and greased up hair. Nothing like getting dragged away by a tiny, fat, septagenarian to destroy any aura of coolness that you may have managed to scrape together.”

Nick laughed as they stepped out into the light that filtered through the semi-permanent cloud cover and low-hanging grime that coated the sky. “Greaser kid, huh? I have a hard time seeing it. I figured you for junior science club, maybe a football quarterback.”

“Oh, I was both. Well. Running back, actually. But I never quite fit in any of those places, and I thought maybe the leather jackets and the pack of smokes would be my ticket to coolness. What it actually got me was the keys to my car (which was also not cool. A twenty-three year old Corvega does not attract women like you might hope) confiscated. Thank God Nora liked me before I even did.”

“An old Corvega, eh? I owned one myself for a while until the damn axel broke. It was the umpteenth thing to go wrong with it in a few months, and I thought to hell with it.” He waved at Carla as they passed, who scowled in return. “Got a little different opinion about old, run-down mechanical things, these days.” 

Nate walked in silence for a few moments, his mouth turned down in thought. The expression didn't fit on the man out of time. Nick had seen him confident, worried, and righteously angry, but this expression of quiet distaste sat badly with him, and seemed to forebode an unfortunate conversation direction. “You talk about her more easily than I would have expected,” he said softly as Nate stopped next to the campfire.

Nate took a slow breath. “It helps, you know? To talk about the good things, when so much else is so terrible, and so strange. Talking to friends, remembering her out loud... it helps.” He glanced back over his shoulder toward the house. “I kept hoping I would find an old photo in the house. I wanted to find it so badly. I've got this terrible memory for faces, and a great memory for voices, and what do I have? A recording of her voice, and no photos.” He ran suddenly-shaky hands through his hair, leaving the blond hair rumpled and out of place. “And I know all I have to do if I want to see her face again is go back to the vault. But I...”

“There's always the memory den,” said Nick quietly. “Doc might even be able to put something on your pip-boy for the right price.”

Nate swallowed. “That's... that's a pretty good idea. Thanks. I don't know enough about what she does to really know what's possible. I wouldn't have thought of... You seem to know her pretty well?”

“Well. I go by from time to time.” Nick tapped the side of his head. “Things can be a bit of a jumble, and she's good at sorting out what's what. Her machines can make... can make...” He trailed off, and Nate grabbed his arm. 

“Nick? Are you with me?”

“Not a malfunction, pal, just a sudden question. Did Carla leave and come back, or is she still here for the third day in a row?”

Nate started to turn to look back toward Carla, but Nick seized his arm to stop him from staring. “Well?”

“She's been here all three days. Sheffield said she spent the night. Nick, why--?”

“Her route usually takes her about five days, right?” said Nick, but didn't wait for a response. “Hang on right here, buddy,” he said, and strode off toward Carla's Brahmin. Nate, he discovered, was right behind him an instant later. 

“You don't think she-”

“I've just got a question for her, doll. Just a question.”

“'Doll?'” repeated Nate under his breath, bemused.

“Carla!”

“Valentine.” Carla took a drag on her cigarette as she hooked the double-yoke to her Brahmin. “You pass on that message about me not being a damn postman?”

“Sadly, there wasn't a lot of time for socializing when I answered my summons, sweetheart. I've just got a quick question for you. Did you score a holo-recorder in a trade recently?” Behind him, he heard Nate draw in a sharp breath.

“Sure,” she said with a shrug. “Sold it to the same trader who gave me the note for you. It's why I've got the money for this here vacation in lux-ur-i-ous Sanctuary. Gotta keep moving usually. What-”

“Hah! Carla, you beautiful thing, I could kiss you.”

She stabbed in his direction with her cigarette. “Try it, Valentine. But you better call the Minutemen now, because I swear to God you'll need 'em to break up the almighty fucking shitstorm I will bring down on your head.” 

“Figure of speech, darling. I'd never steal a kiss without your express permission, not least because I'm pretty sure you could throw that Brahmin in an emergency.” And at her startled, huh? He kept talking. “And Carla, who was this trader?”

“Ben the Skink,” she said with a shrug. “Why?” 

“Because, dear lady, it's a lead. Where does Ben the Skink make his route?”

“Mostly between Goodneighbor and Diamond City. Most of us don't like that route. He's a fucking fool to mess with those streets. Too many raiders for me, ya know?” she tapped her cigarette on a stack of cinderblocks. “He in some kinda trouble?” she said in a tone of voice that Nick associated with the type of snitch who took sincere joy in their work.

“Maybe, maybe not. But he sure knows someone who is.”

“You're damn right they're in trouble,” said Nate in a soft growl.

“Neat,” said Carla, and lit another cigarette. 

“Ellie!” said Nick, spotting his secretary across the cul-de-sac. “Find a pen and paper, doll!”

“Yeah?” she said, fingering the end of her newly cut hair. Then her eyes widened. “You need me to take some notes?”

“Darling, we've got ourselves a bona-fide lead.”

“Yeah!” she said, and darted back toward one of the houses.

“Nick,” said Nate. “How did you-what made you think-?”

“Just a hunch that panned out.” He twitched his mouth into a crooked smile, and shook a cigarette out of the pack. “I just need long enough to sort some thoughts out onto paper, and then I can start chasing this thing down.”

“Bull,” said Nate. “You're getting that eye fixed before you go anywhere. And if you think you're going this alone, forget it. That's the kind of thinking that had me sprinting across the commonwealth to rescue you last time. I'm going with you.”

Nick waved a hand. “I couldn't ask.”

“You _didn't,”_ said Nate. “And, let's get this on the table: I'm not _asking,_ either.”

Nick met his gaze. “Nate. This isn't your fight.”

“Someone hurts my friends? You better believe it is my fight.” He crossed his arms, then glanced down at himself, and unfolded them carefully. “Look. Why don't you do the notes thing while I finish up the eye?”

Nick sighed. “Fair enough. You do your thing, Nate, and I'll do mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lead! Huzzah! Sorry for the short chapter. Back tomorrow with another flashback, and all three characters conscious in the same scene. :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I had unexpected visitors for new years last night, and spent the night getting schmammered instead of writing. Don't you judge me. ;)

With Nate's worklight on, his room was interesting to Nick. Clean as anything got in the Wastelands, the walls were warped and light shone through them, the drywall was crumbling where it wasn't gone entirely, and the entire place smelled a little of mildew. Nick could imagine the place in all its pre-war suburban glory, but had trouble pulling many inferences about the old Nate from the rubble. 

The new Nate, that was another matter. There was Shaun's room, untouched other than to clear away rubble and tidy up. The crib was still there for a baby they both knew to be at least ten years old by now; there were toys much too infantile for a child on the cusp of adolescence. In Nate's room, there was the man's armor hung up on the wall, there was a tidy selection of weapons, carefully sorted boxes of ammunition, a pack ready to go at a moment's notice. Not a lot of personality in these items of utility. 

But Nick wasn't a detective for nothing. There was a small stack of folded clothes—two suits, a couple of shirts, a pair of jeans, even a couple of slightly worse-for-wear fedoras—that suggested Nate might be looking forward to a day he might be able to doff the armor and perhaps even the vault suit. There were three pillows on the bed, and since Nate didn't seem the type to hog resources unnecessarily, it seemed to Nick there were one of a couple of answers. Insomnia, or a man terribly unused to sleeping alone. 

Currently, the man himself was at Nick's temple, fingers playing gently along the seam of nearly-real skin behind Nick's ear, looking for the edge that would let him pull away the coating closest to Nick's optics. “There,” breathed Nate, and his breath tickled Nick's neck for just an instant before the skin came away in his hand.

“Nick, you wouldn't believe how hard it is to come by a pen here--” began Ellie, walking into the room. But she stopped, and blanched. “I mean. Jeeze, Nick. Doesn't that hurt?”

Nick shrugged with one shoulder, to which Nate said “Be still,” in a low tone. “Hurt? Not so much. It feels uncomfortable, sure, but I'm meant to open up here for this very reason.”

“We hope,” said Nate, to which Ellie made a small sound, halfway to a whimper. And this time, Nick couldn't just let it go. 

“You look a shade distressed, doll. No need to get teary over a bucket of screws and wire. Ow,” he said, as Nate jabbed him with a jeweler's screwdriver.

“Oh?” she said in an arch tone. “You particularly like seeing your friends get operated on? Because it gives me the willies to see people I care about looking all... all...”

“Vulnerable,” said Nate. “The word you're looking for is vulnerable.” 

 

* * * 

_Three of Vendetti's boys had sprung a trap on him, a call for help in a warehouse he should have remembered was owned by one of the families. They'd beat nine kinds of hell out of him, and left him with a warning to tell no-one._

_Steph had found him. A plain, freckled red-head with a press-pass and a penchant for trouble. A spiritual ancestor to Piper, if ever there was one. They'd never quite connected, never made it past flirting. His partner at the time had called her a homely kind of girl, and after Nick got him alone, Pete had asked for a new partner. If he hadn't, Nick would have. There was no use in a partner who could only see the barest surface of things._

_She'd made the call for an ambulance. She'd made the gangster who'd left him last in a lineup. She'd made him lasagna while he was in the hospital after he complained about the food. She'd made him go to his physical therapy even after he'd declared in his own expert medical opinion, that he was going to be right as rain._

_In return, he'd made her cry when he told her she'd got no future with him, that a girl as smart as her, as clever and as brave could do a whole heap better almost anywhere else._

_She'd told him he was afraid to be vulnerable, told him he couldn't handle being taken care of, being supported so thoroughly for so long in his recovery. She'd told him she didn't care, that there was no shame in having lost to three men who came at you out of the darkness with chains and tire irons._

_And what could he say? She was at least a little right. Right about his weaknesses, if not wholly aware of the situation. The loss of control had shaken him to his core. But that clever girl, who took such pride in knowing all the facts?_

_She hadn't been behind the one way mirror when the thug she'd fingered had smiled dreamily, and crooned his list of things he had planned for Valentine's girl._

 

* * *

 

“I'm not too keen on the situation myself, doll,” said Nick. “Never have been one to enjoy being under the weather.”

Her expression softened. “Yeah, I can't imagine you would. Some men like to make people work extra hard when they're sick, you know? I feel like you probably are the kind to run yourself into the ground instead and growl 'I'm fine!' all the way down to your grave,” said Ellie, pitching her voice like Nick's as best she could. 

“Been working on an impression on your lunch break?” asked Nate easily. 

“Who isn't working on an impression?” she teased. “Sexiest voice in the commonwealth, for sure. Right, Nate?”

“Without a doubt, but nobody tell Hancock I said so. It'd break his little heart.”

“Laugh it up, kids,” said Nick. “I-” His eyes rolled back and snapped shut as something went _click_ in his skull. 

“Nick?” said Nate, and his voice had acquired an edge. 

“Still with ya, partner. I'm thinking when you opened whatever it is you just opened, it switched off my optics entirely. Not the first time a whole system has gone down during repairs.”

“Thank God,” said Nate, and off to the side, Ellie let out a long breath

“Strangest one was when the entire right side of my body went numb. That was after the injury that took out that chunk of my neck, and I had to shine up a piece of metal to use as a mirror to do the repair myself. Suddenly half my sensors go dark. Oddest damn thing, but you know what my first thought was?” 

Nate's breath was back on his neck now, and Nick imagined him hunched forward and squinting. “What's that?”

“My first thought was that I'd had a stroke. Weird thing for a robot to think, eh?”

“Considering the symptom? Not that weird.”

“Stop _scaring_ me Nick,” breathed Ellie. “You're going to give _me_ a damn stroke before long. Nate, doesn't he keep scaring you?”

“Are we going to talk about our feelings now?” Nate deadpanned. “Because that is my absolute favorite thing. Nick, you start.”

“I'm feeling like I'm in the dark for some reason. I also feel a need for a smoke.”

“I'm feeling hungry,” said Nate. “Once I saw Jun was cooking radroach for lunch, I started wondering what sort of processed, two century old, irradiated junk food I had squirreled away in my things.”

“Shut up, you two,” Ellie laughed. “Nick, dictate. Nate, do your fancy screwdriver stuff.”

He took a breath to steady himself, to give himself time to think. It wasn't entirely an empty motion—he needed air to cool internal processes, and to speak. Another half-step between the old synths and the new.

“Alright, Ellie. We've got at least three perps, one at large, two deceased. Let's have a placeholder name. Gomer. Red treated him like he's not bright. Knows his way around tech enough to operate something relatively fiddly, like a holo-recorder. Either he's got a background where he learned to use them, or something similar, or he's good with tech in general. Either one leaves a trail. If he's their tech guy, and he knows what he's doing, there must still be a reason they treated him like a fool.”

“Before you got there, she kept telling him what to do in really close detail, like they didn't trust him. Not like they were suspicious, but like they thought he couldn't think for himself, like he was a real screw-up. She told him he didn't have any damn sense.”

“Good catch.” Nate's fingers played against his skin, looking for something, and he fought back a shiver. “Write his description. If I saw anything you didn't, I'll tack it on.”

“Got it. Brown hair, close cropped. Big nose, broken in the past, brown eyes, weak chin, rounded face and head. No visible scars on hands or face. About five and a half feet high, so on the short side. Scratched his, ah, groinal region constantly, so we might be able to track him if he needs a doc.” She cleared her throat delicately, and Nick worked to keep his smile at bay. “Long fingers. Bitten nails. Dirtier than the other three. Shoes too big; they kept slipping on the heel. Clothes were an old black t shirt and jeans, but those are easy to change. Miss anything?” She finished a shade breathlessly. 

“Ellie,” he drawled. “You are a marvel. An absolute gem.”

“Nora would've said that's a witness account you can convict on,” said Nate, and Nick detected a little awe, a little respect in that tone.

She was wasted as a secretary. She should've been a lawyer (a prosecutor, he amended), or a detective herself. The well of her memory seemed bottomless, and she noticed everything. Who was he kidding. A detective? She could've been anything she wanted in the old world. 

“You didn't mention the mouth-breathing,” he noted. “Did it only start once things got moving?”

There was silence, and in it, Ellie tapped her pen. “Yeah,” she said finally. “About the time Red got antsy as it got near noon.”

“Asthma, maybe?” guessed Nate.

“I like it as a theory. Jot it down, doll.” He took another slow breath. “Ben the Skink gives us two towns to check—Diamond City and Goodneighbor. I say we start in Diamond City. Piper may have heard something, and since we assume Gomer shares Red's sentiments about synths and wasn't just a hired guy--”

“Believe me,” said Ellie in a grim tone. “He let me know that he did.”

“Good,” said Nick. “It means he's more likely to have contacts in Diamond City than Goodneighbor.”

“So we start back at home, huh?” she said.

“Ellie. It might be better for you to lie low at Sanctuary.”

“Boss,” she said. “I didn't know Nate had replaced your brains with Takahashi's noodles while he was in there. That's real sad. But, no. I'm not going to flee my home and I'm not leaving you to deal with these lunatics alone.”

“I was afraid you'd say that,” he said wearily. “Well. Not the part about noodles, because Mama Murphy at her most Jet-addled couldn't've predicted _that_ doozy. But the rest.” 

“Promise you won't leave here without me and Nate.”

“You've got my word, doll, but you have to let me take the lead on this. Even idiots can be dangerous. Sometimes a lot more so than most folk, since you can't predict what they'll do.”

“Nick, we aren't dumb, ourselves,” said Nate softly. 

“It's more about me trying to reassure myself, kid.” Nick held himself steady, but he wanted to shake his head. “After all, I don't know what I'd do if something happened to either of you.”

“Now you're getting there,” said Nate, and with a sharp click from Nick's skull, and a hum of satisfaction from Nate, his eyes snapped back open, and light flooded both of them. It took a moment for the system to equalize, and Nate's face slowly resolved from a haze of light, a small, strange smile on his lips. “Good?” he asked.

For a half-instant, Nick held his breath, and his gaze moved from Nate to Ellie, from his smile to her beaming relief. 

“Amazing,” he said.


	6. Chapter 6

Diamond City. They called it the jewel of the commonwealth. No matter how dirty she got, no matter how down-low she treated him, Nick was glad to see the old gal.

“You sure you don't want me to walk right by you?” asked Nate.

Nick shook his head. “Nah. If I'm going to come back here, I'm going to do it with my head held high, in broad daylight. You hang back with Ellie. I'm going to see Piper for the scoop.”

“Your call, Nick,” said Nate, but he might as well have said _you're wrong, Nick,_ for his tone of voice.

Nick slanted a brow at him, and patted his pockets for his pack of cigarettes. “I'm hearing an objection.”

“Look,” said Nate. “Let's say we're too late. Let's say the whole city has seen it, and it's stirred up some sort of anti-synth sentiment, and they're all forgetting about Nick Valentine their neighbor. All they can think about is how they've had a synth living right here, and what fools they've been. Worst case scenario: Lots of people were in on kidnapping Ellie and luring you out to the middle of nowhere. Let's show them two humans walking shoulder to shoulder with Nick and his head held high.”

“It's a nice thought,” said Nick. “But remember that funny thing I said about me taking the lead on this? Wasn't that long ago, even.”

“Like, funny hah-hah, or funny weird?” said Nate.

“Hah. We _are_ a droll bunch, aren't we?”

Nate touched him on the shoulder. “We're--” He cleared his throat. “We want to watch your back. That's all.”

"And I appreciate it. I want both of you to know that I do. But I want to get a feel for things before I run the risk of dragging you both down further with me. I'll see Piper by myself. Then I'm going straight to the agency to meet you two. If Piper tells me it's not safe—really not safe--I'll wait at the paper for you. Give me half an hour, and come find me, right?”

They didn't like it. But they took it for what it was: the best he could give them.

Ellie and Nate cut to the right, heading down the path and around the back side of Takahashi's noodle stand. Nick watched them go, watched until they passed the biggest cluster of people around the stand without incident before he breathed a sigh of relief. But then they were out of sight, and if he were the old Nick, the muscles of his shoulders would've started to tighten. He still had to relax his shoulders anyway, because even if there weren't any muscles to tighten, they still drew back and betrayed his mood.

He flicked his hat back before he went down the steps; made sure everyone could see his face clearly. Whatever else happened, he hadn't been exaggerating when he'd told them he'd walk back into town holding his head high.

Nat eyed him askance as he stepped into the offices of Publick Occurences without knocking. “Where've you been? Piper's been looking for you for like a week now.”

“Oh, around,” he said wryly. “Is Piper-?”

“Your face looks different. Is that a scar? That's kinda neat. I didn't know synths could scar. I like how it's a lighter color like a regular scar. Piper's out.”

“Yes. Yeah, it is. Me neither until it happened. No opinion yet, myself. When'll she be back?”

She gave him a look that indicated the smallest fraction of adolescent respect had been earned. A kid so young shouldn't be so hard. But they all were these days. The durable ones were, at least.

“Pretty soon, I guess. She went to look for you, so she's probably just running down to your office and back.” She waved a dismissive hand at him, and went back to her work at the partially disassembled printing press. “You can wait.”

“Apparently so.” The impulse, as always, was to lay his hat in his lap when he sat down in a waiting room. An old-fashioned thing to do, and nobody would welcome it, besides. And judging by the gusto with which Nat was pulling parts out of the printing press to clean them, he was probably safer not flashing anything that looked like a moving part near her. He flipped up his collar just to be sure.

A five or six minute wait saw Piper come back in the front door, two steaming hot noodle bowls tucked in the crook of her arm so she could manage the door. She swore softly as one tipped, and Nick reached out to steady it as he stood.

“Thanks,” she muttered, then, “Nick! Wow. Okay. I look for you something like ten times a day and grill half the people in town about where you are, and then you're right here? Some investigator I am,” she said.

He winked. “Your secret's safe with me, doll.” He took both the bowls of noodles from her, and put them on her desk. “Nat had to beg me for the pleasure of my company, but after a lot of pleading, I agreed to stay. Listen, Piper--” he began, and at the same time she said, “Listen, Nick--”

He gave her a little nod. “Ladies first.”

“Quaint, Nick. Very quaint. Listen, I'm really really glad to see you and all, but you've got to get out of town. Someone's got something planned, and you won't like it. Nick. Ellie's disappeared.”

“I know, doll. She was kidnapped. I--”

Piper's eyes grew wide. “Kidnapped? Was it the Institute? Oh, Nick, I'm so sorry. I know she was like a-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa--” Nick held out his hands. “Slow down, kid. Ellie's safe. In fact by now she's back at the agency with Nate. She's not hanging out in the past tense, with the Institute, or with a huge burly guy who takes orders from a red-head. Anymore.”

He pulled the brim of his hat down enough to cast shadows on his face. “We should talk privately,” he said. Behind Piper, Nat did her level best to look inconspicuous. Nick gave her a hairy eyeball, and finally she made a noise of disgust. “Fine,” she said, snatching up her noodle bowl on the way outside. “Piper tells me <i>everything</i>,” she said with a huff.

“Good for Piper,” said Nick, and ruffled her hair as she ducked past, earning him a real first-rate sneer.

Piper flopped down into her chair, and snatched a pair of chopsticks from her desk drawer. “Nick. We've got to have a talk about your way with people.”

“ _My_ way with people?” he asked. “That kid is a pistol.”

Piper grinned. “I know.” She took her first bite of noodles, and sighed. “Nick, I'm really glad you're okay. This is like the second time this year you've gone missing. Too much for one guy.”

“I'll drink to that,” he said, and drew up a chair. “Here's the short version, and I'll be happy to provide specifics if you need them. Ellie was kidnapped by a small group of anti-synth types to draw me out a few hours north of here. They had a holo-recorder, and were setting up a trap, apparently with a mind to distribute the tape of what they did. Well, I walked into the trap. They had Ellie. What else could I have done? They made their tape. They let Ellie run to get me compliant. Told me they were going to kill her anyway. And then Nate turned up to save the day.”

“Nick, oh my god. What happened?”

“Nate put a bullet in the ringleader, a tall red-headed dame. She'd already pinged a bullet off my thick skull, knocked me silly. Knocked me out, really, because I didn't see any of what happened next. Ellie came running back to save my hide, hit one with a rock. Nate put both Big Burly and Red down, but never saw the squirrely kid with the holo-recorder because the kid split, and Nate was worried about me. Anyway, Nate got us back to Sanctuary, fixed me up as good as I get, and we're down here to follow up on some leads. Doll, I've gotta tell you, I'm not going to rest easy until I know these guys were acting alone, and that the kid isn't going to make a grab for Ellie again. Tell me you've got a lead for me.”

Piper laid down her chopsticks. “Nick,” she said slowly. “Yeah. I think I do. But you're not going to like it. The whole reason I was trying to find you—besides Ellie being missing, I mean—was that I heard one of the guards saying you'd get taken down a peg. Bragging about it. He didn't act like he expected you to die or anything, but he clammed up totally when he spotted me. It's not exactly a secret that we're friends.”

“Or that you've got a mouth on you.”

She pushed his arm, and mock-scowled. “Yeah, well. That too.” She took another bite of noodles. “The other thing this guy said? Said they were going to make an example out of you so the other synths would know they weren't welcome. Like you're their civic leader or something.” She finished off the noodles in a couple of big bites. “Anyway, I know which guard it was. But it's not like the rotten mayor is going to listen to me, and if this sentiment goes all the way up, he's not going to listen you, either. We're both pretty far out of the power structure in this town.”

“Doll, don't sell yourself short. We're outside of the official power structure. But we're the people you go to when the powers that be let you down.”

“So who helps us?” she said glumly.

“We do,” he said, standing. “We help us. So I've got some leads to run down. I want you to come back to the agency with me so you can look over all of Ellie's notes. They'll give you a lot more complete version of what happened here. And you can read her descriptions of our three kidnappers, see if any of them ring a bell for you.” He offered her a hand, and she took it, and stood. “To be honest, I'm a little worried about any of my friends being alone right now, considering these goons were already willing to kidnap someone once to get me to dance for them. I'll feel better having you and everyone else in the same place.”

“They could kidnap anyone in town and you'd do the same, Nick.”

“The kind of people who'd do this are the kind of people who could never understand that, doll,” he said.

“Fear of those who are Other,” said Piper.

“Exactly. They're self-interested, so they assume I am, too. Let's not forget that there's likely some resentment at work, too. Ellie wants to associate with a dirty Synth? Ellie gets used as bait. And when they found out she and I are close? She went from being bait, to being the next to go.” He shook his head. “Something doesn't jive. If they wanted to humiliate me, and leave me ostracized by the people of Diamond City, if they went to all the trouble of getting a holo-recorder into the mix, why haul off and try to kill me after all that? Something changed after they put their plan in action.”

“Or there were two plans to start with,” said Piper.

“Even worse. If that's the case, we've got more people involved than I'd hoped for. C'mon,” he said. “Lets get back to the agency.” He pushed open the front door, and Piper followed behind him.

“Nick? If I'm possibly a target, is Nat, too, do you think?”

“Damn,” said Nick.

“A target for what?” asked Nat, suddenly chipper.

“Kidnapping,” said Piper.

“Whoa!” said Nat. “I could get kidnapped? So cool.”

“Aaand you're coming with us,” said Nick.

“You're so not fun. Are all synths so un-fun? Piper says you're unique. If you're unique does that mean you don't have any spare parts if you get hurt?”

“You know what,” said Nick. “Let's hold our questions until the end of the press conference.” He ruffled her hair again, and she scowled, falling silent.

“My god,” said Piper, as Nat ran ahead of them. “It's like an off switch.”

“My gift to you,” said Nick. “No charge for educational services.”

“Ellie likes her,” said Piper.

“Trying to convice yourself this is about to go well? Ellie likes kids. For that matter so does Nate, and so do I. None of that covers the mouth on your kid sister. Maybe I can keep her busy reading perp descriptions and old case files.”

“Nick, you could keep _me_ busy that way any day of the week. She'll love it. Thank you.”

“Don't thank me yet, doll. I may've gotten you both into a whole heap of mess,” he said grimly. “I hope to god I haven't, but at least I got here before anyone grabbed either of you.”

“It'll make a great story.”

“Piper...” he said warningly.

“Can't blame a girl for trying.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Thanks, Bethesda for giving me Nat, Nate, and Nick to juggle. If I'd made those names up myself, you, the reader, would be well within your rights to be irritated at me for making this complicated. ;)

By the time late afternoon rolled around, the Nick Valentine Detective Agency had gotten hot, stuffy, and more than just a little crowded. Piper and Ellie had their heads together in the corner over the small sheaf of paperwork Ellie had generated. She did a lot of that when she was worried. It could be worse: Hancock did chems. Nick smoked. And Ellie did paperwork. Everyone had to have a vice, he supposed, but it was a damned strange one. Nick had dug out a stack of perp descriptions and files on unsolved cases, and upstairs, Nat was perfectly absorbed. And Nate....

Nate was sticking to him closely enough that Nick wondered if he was worried the place was about to get stormed by angry citizens. 

“I'm just saying,” said Nate, “that we ought to divide up into two teams. Team babysit Nat and hold down the fort, and team get out there and ask some questions.”

“I don't disagree, doll. But Ellie isn't through... coallating. She's going to turn something up soon, and what we're going to find is that we missed something. The girl's a genius, and with Piper on her side? We've got time to do this right.” 

“Nick, the tape-”

“I'm real aware. I promise you that. But running around willy nilly gets heads coshed in alleyways.”

“That is not even a saying. You made that up just now,” said Nate. 

“Ellie,” he called. “What do I always say about running around willy nilly?”

“Gets your head coshed in an alleyway. Presumably a dark one,” she said without looking up. “Lemme guess. Nate's got ants in his vault suit, and needs to move around?”

“Bingo,” said Nick. “Didn't the military teach you to hurry up and wait?”

“Didn't I leave the military for a hundred really good reasons, of which that's one?” said Nate. He rummaged in his pack, and scowled. “I'm going to run get food. How about that?”

“Knock yourself out, but remember your suggestion about teams? Take someone with you.”

Nate glanced back at the women in the corner as they gestured to some presumably critical note. Ellie was getting red-faced, and Piper looked smug. He glanced up the stairs at Nat. He looked at Nick. Opened his mouth, then closed it again. He dropped his head into his arms, and collapsed into a puddle in front of Nick's desk fan. “Okay. Point made.”

“There, there,” said Nick, and patted his shoulder with his good hand. “If you can kill a deathclaw, you can make it through today.”

“I think your Red Handed Ghoul and the Skeleton Dispenser are the same guy,” said Nat from the top of the stairs. “I'm going to combine the files so you can fix that.” 

Ellie made a small, strangled noise, and darted upstairs, long legs taking the stairs two at a time. 

“Sorry to hear about your kid sister,” said Nick.

“Huh?” said Piper. “She's just messing with paperwork.”

“Exactly. If she lives, it'll be with a new appreciation for filing systems. We actually already followed up that same idea. Didn't pan out.”

“Skeleton Dispenser?” asked Nate warily. “Do I want to know?”

“Ah, just a guy about five years ago who was stringing up whole skeletons in people's homes overnight. You'd wake up and there'd be a damn reassembled brahmin in your kitchen, or a bird skeleton on your nightstand. Me, I think the guy eventually just found another hobby and moved on. Ellie thinks-- well, it doesn't matter.” He rose, and ambled over to see what Piper was looking over. “Ideas?”

“Yeah,” she said. “But we'll wait until Ellie's done murdering Nat and lay it all on the table.”

Ellie huffed back down the stairs, and Nick reached out to offer his hand as she stepped down. “Piper says you've got a few ideas?”

“Yeah, Nick, but you're going to hate all of them.”

“There's nothing I haven't hated about all this but the fact that I've spent so much time with all of you,” he said. “It's an ugly case, full of ugly ideas in ugly heads.”

Nate lifted his head and flashed a quick grin at him. “Aww. I feel loved.” 

“Hush, you. Now. You ladies said you had some ideas?”

“Uh-huh. Piper thinks she's seen that same security guard around Myrna's a lot. Now it could just be part of his route, or it could be that he's bad at being inconspicuous, and that Myrna's his point of contact.” Ellie glanced at Piper, who nodded, picking up where Ellie left off.

“The problem with the theory is that it could just be a matter of birds of a feather sharing sour grapes together. But Myrna _is_ at least medium unstable. Whether or not she'd do anything about it...”

“Myrna, eh? Can't say I'm even a little bit surprised, sadly. I'd wondered, but didn't want to throw around accusations without anything more to back it up than a piss-poor attitude. She's hated me ever since she came to the city. And she does accuse people of being synths left and right.”

“Yep,” said Piper. “She's half off her rocker over synths. Wouldn't even sell to me for a day or two after she saw me pat you on the shoulder. She's got the right contacts to have bought the holo-recorder from Ben the Skink. (I swear, Nick, when I work with you I meet people with the _best_ names.) She talks to all the guards. Heck, she talks to everybody, if only for long enough to accuse them of being a synth.”

“You know,” said Nick. “She actually hasn't said anything of the kind to me. Funny that I'm the one guy she's not accusing of being a synth. No? Only funny to me, then. Right. You were saying?”

“Here's the other thing, Nick,” said Ellie. “Red's description loosely matches one for a kid who went missing after a bunch of synths stripped the town. Lotta dead people. About twenty years ago. I only know about it because I read all your old notes. The kid was described as red-haired, tall, pale, freckled. It doesn't excuse a damn thing, but it explains why she was so hot under the collar about synths. We don't have anything on the other two, but it could explain why Red changed the plan all of a sudden.”

“Because once she saw me, she couldn't let me live,” he said. Nate touched his arm and Nick nodded his thanks to him. 

“Awful as that sounds? It's our best theory that explains what we already know without having to account for her having two sets of orders or something.” Piper glanced at Ellie, and shrugged. “My guess is the same goes for Ellie. Kidnapping her was a big risk to take for something as simple as needing a note written. They could have forged it, or forced her to write it and left her tied up somewhere to be let go later. Unless they already knew they wanted to make her watch you suffer so she'd suffer, too. From what El told me, Red seemed to get a kick out of knowing Ellie couldn't stand to watch what was happening to you, especially since she was the bait in the trap.”

Could that be it? Could that be the whole reason she'd flinched away from looking at him? It was such a simple explanation, and Piper presented it as though it were obvious--

\--Or as though it was what Ellie had told her, herself. Was she mortified for him instead of horrified to see him? He didn't have time to think about it. It had to be a question for some other time. 

He took a deep breath. “It makes sense. Now we've got three leads, I think. First, the security guard. Second, Myrna. Third, Ben the Skink. ...Make that four.” He started to pace in the cramped confines of the office. “Let's say you've got a holo-tape you want everyone to see. What do you do with it?”

“Show it to people,” said Nate. 

“So we're not even necessarily looking for Gomer. We're looking for where Gomer is going. And where he's going, there'll be a working screen that can play the holo. Aren't that many in town,” said Nick. “And that's where we start, people.”

Ellie flipped over a sheet of paper and started writing. “Got it. Writing up a few names, boss. If there's one out there and I don't get it on this list, it's a well kept secret.” Piper leaned over her shoulder and nodded along as Ellie wrote.

A few moments later, Ellie handed him the list, and he scanned it quickly. “Some of this will let us hit two birds with one stone. One is in Myrna's hands, eh? Makes sense. She has so many different bits of old tech through there that I would have been surprised if she didn't have the right kind of screen. Lotta circumstantial evidence building up against Myrna.”

“Motive, opportunity, uh--” said Nate, ticking them off on his fingers. “And, err, the third one.”

“Means, motive, and opportunity is what you're looking for, doll.” Nick handed the list to Nate for him to read. “Motive she's got in spades. She's always hated me. Means --did she have the ability? The shop sure gives her that in spades. Opportunity is easy. She's not exactly unavailable there in the market. From the point of view of a criminal law proceeding, it doesn't look good for Myrna. But it could be a big chain of coincidences.” 

“Right, we're not exactly putting together a court case, I guess,” said Nate. 

“Well, in a way we are. If we're going to deal with these people, we want to be sure we have the right ones. Especially,” he said grimly, “if it's a guy like me tossing out accusations against a human.”

“I think you're overestimating the impact of crazy Myrna's word against yours,” said Piper. “She's accused most of the people in town of being synths, from the mayor, to me, to Cindy's Reynold's nine month old baby. Nobody thinks she's got some sort of special line on the truth at this point.”

“I always thought that baby looked like a shady sort,” said Nick. “So. I'll take Nate and Ellie while Piper stays here with Nat. We'll check out these leads, get Nate fed before he wastes away into nothing, and-- What?” he said as Piper shook her head. 

“Nick,” said Piper gently. “If we're going to talk to Myrna—heck, if we're going to talk to a bunch of people who might be in on this—it doesn't make any sense for you to be with us. They're going to clam up the moment they see you. Myrna in particular. You should stay here and keep Nat company, and the three of us will go out. Make sense?”

“It makes plenty of sense,” he said. “But that doesn't mean I have to like it.” He patted his pockets for his cigarettes, and gave up when Piper scowled. “Look. How about you go try the first few leads—the holos, the security guards, and maybe Myrna—any of that you can get done before nightfall. Then come back here and we'll regroup. After dark I can do a little skulking on my own.”

“After dark, we'll come back and talk about you skulking around on your own, Nick Valentine,” said Ellie. 

“It's the best I'll get,” he said with a sigh. “I know a lost battle when I see one.”

Nate stood. “I'll grab some noodles on the way, and we can hit a couple of these places on the way to the Dugout. Waiting on Myrna until after dark means we don't have to talk to her while she runs her business. She usually does her grocery shopping as soon as she leaves for the evening. What?” he said in response to Piper's lifted eyebrow. “I made the mistake of getting in her way as she left once, and she nearly bit my head off.”

Ellie patted his shoulder as she got her scarf out of the desk drawer. “Don't worry, boss. Only a couple of hours until dark, right?” she said with a wink. 

“Stay sharp out there, doll,” he said, standing. 

And in a flurry of promises to be careful, to be back soon, they were gone. 

He flipped on the radio to fill the sudden silence, and listened to a long-dead musician sing about uranium while he went over Ellie's notes another time, in case there was something he was missing. Hiding out didn't sit right with him, and it seemed especially unfair to hide while Nate, Ellie, and Piper investigated. 

Nat came down the stairs, a carefully stacked set of files cradled in her arms. She sat them down in front of Nick, and pulled up Ellie's chair. “I think if I'm not a reporter always, maybe I'll be a detective,” she announced. 

“Spiritually similar occupations,” he said without looking up. 

“Can I wear your hat while I read?” she asked.

“Sure, kid,” he said, and plopped it on her head. Wasn't there another page with information they had on that guard, Connoll? He shuffled the papers, keeping them in order as he went. 

Absorbed in the gentle curves of Ellie's handwriting, time passed until abruptly, he became aware that Nat had been far too quiet for far too long for his liking.

He glanced up and and with a strangled shout, jumped back. A huge brown eye loomed at him where he'd been he'd been expecting the kid. 

“Damn, kid. If I had a heart, you'd give it an attack,” he said. “Where'd you find that thing, anyway? I haven't used it in ages.”

She tilted the magnifying glass back and forth at him, causing her eye to recede and wobble in the ancient glass. “I'll ask the questions here,” she growled in a passable imitation of his voice. 

“I don't know nothin', coppah,” he muttered with his best scowl, fighting back a grin.

“How long have you been in love with Ellie? Does Nate know? What about vice versa? Are ya leading them on or are you as clueless as ya look? Well? Answers, mister!” said the kid in her impression of his own voice.

 _Worry worry worry, love is passing me by. Worry worry worry, I'm so painfully shy_ , warbled the radio into the silence. 

“You're a piece of work, kid” he muttered, finally. “What gives you the idea that--? You know what, don't even answer that.”

She didn't listen, of course. “Pshh,” she said, dropping the imitation. “You guys flirt _constantly _. And keep touching each other, and smiling, and making eyes and stuff. Adults are so weird.”__

__He stood, not bothering to push in his chair. “Kid,” he said roughly. “You don't know the tiniest bit of what's going on.” _And neither do I,_ he added silently. _ _

__“O-kay,” she said in the tone of a child dealing with an incurably stupid adult. “Whatever you say.”_ _

__He opened the door to the agency, and took a step or two outside to smoke. “That's super gross. Why do you even smoke since you're a synth?” she said, following him._ _

__He ran his hand down his face, and scowled out into the deepening gloom. He couldn't decide if he wanted the others to turn up right away, or give his nerves a few minutes to recover._ _

__Down the alley, he spotted someone trying to walk unnoticed. In his day he'd seen a lot of obvious creeping, but this one might take the cake for most furitive glances over the shoulder. His breath caught when he saw the face. Myrna._ _

__He snatched his hat off Nat's head, and ducked back into the alcove of the agency. “Tell me which way she goes,” he said._ _

__“How come I-”_ _

__“Because my eyes glow,” he whispered. “Just look out there!”_ _

__She peered around the corner. “Right,” she whispered back._ _

__Toward the back of the city. What in the world was she doing back there?_ _

__And in a split second decision, he whispered, “C'mon, kid. We're tailing her.”_ _

__She gave a little chortle that sent shivers through him. “ _Too_ cool.”_ _


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter; this one was a lot harder to write and took up most of my evening. :) Enjoy!

There were two ways to creep. Slow and quiet, or by being invisible. Nick chose to be invisible. To Nat's amazement even as she tried to stay low and silent, Nick simply tilted his hat down to hide his eyes, and took Nat by the hand. His coat, he rolled into a ball and passed to Nat to hold. The best light Myrna was likely to see him in would leave him backlit from the direction she was headed, and now instead of presenting a profile of trenchcoat and fedora, she'd look back and see a man in a hat and a child carrying a bundle. 

Myrna cut toward the crops, and when she turned toward the wall—and even if almost nobody else did, Nick still thought of the wall as the Green Monster—he and Nat peeled left toward the rusting playground equipment. “Climb up onto the top of the UFO,” he whispered, leaning over so she could hear him. “Act natural, like you're just playing, but watch where she goes and tell me.”

“Got it,” she said, and ran forward laughing. She clambered onto the top of the UFO, and let out a whoop. Nick watched from under his hat as Myrna turned toward the noise, and visibly relaxed, her shoulders untensing as much as they ever did. She must have spotted she was being followed. 

The kid scrambled up onto the cracked and broken dome of the ancient playground equipment. “Careful,” Nick warned under his breath. “That thing looks like it'll go any day now.”

“It's safe. I've been up here a million times.” 

“Why doesn't that make me feel any better?” he asked softly. 

“Okay, she's past the brahmin and the muttfruit trees,” said Nat. She squinted. “Whoa.”

“Whoa _what_?” he asked. 

“Abbot just opened his door and let her in. I could see the light from the doorway.”

“Abbot? You're certain?” he asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Always thought the guy liked me as much as he liked anyone,” said Nick softly, reaching up and lifting Nat to the ground. 

“I can do that on my own!” she hissed, but peered up at him. “Are you okay? You look... funny.”

“No,” he said. “But thanks.”

This time they kept low, behind the stunted profile of the muttfruit plants, cutting through 'brush and scrub and half-broken fencing. Nat cried out once, a brief exclamation of surprise, and when Nick tried to stop her, she shook her head and held up a scratched arm. 

The open area between the edges of the scrub and Abbot's house were the hardest, and when they came to a stop behind it, crouched among the piles of tires, Nat was shaking. 

He took her hands in his, rubbed his good hand over hers. “You're ok,” he whispered. “You're ok.”

But his hands froze when he heard speech inside.

“What do you _mean_ someone was looking for me, Abbot? That's what you called me out here to tell me?” Myrna's voice was a low hiss, but to Nick's ears she might as well have been speaking directly to him. Nat pressed her ear against the wall with her hand cupped, but from her frown, she had heard as well. 

“I thought you needed to know,” said the old man defensively. “You said to tell me if anybody seemed to be asking questions about you or about holos. So I--”

“About holos?” she said. “Who was asking about holos?” A long, shaky exhalation. “You're telling this... telling this all wrong.”

“That guy from the vaults. He was getting noodles, and I heard him ask someone about holo recorders. You said your recorder was vital, so I--”

“Walked immediately to the person who gave it to you to hide?” she said, her voice sharp, and growing louder. “You're an idiot.”

“Look! You give me this thing, you say hide it and you'll get power to my house or get me the caps to do it, you say it's no big deal. But then you lay on me you're working with security to catch a synth infiltrator, and so I say, hey, I'll do it for free. Service to the city, ya know?” There was the sound of pacing in the small house, and a hand coming down on the wall shook it. “Myrna, you gotta tell me what's going on here. Who's the synth?”

A huff. “Fine. Nick Valentine.”

Silence, then incredulous laughter. “Valentine? _Valentine_? Good job, Myrna, you figured out his big secret! He's a fucking synth, everybody look out!”

Nick let out a breath, and Nat met his gaze. “He didn't-” she whispered, but Myrna's voice cut through the few instants of silence. 

“Shut up! We've got to show them--”

“No, Myrna. You get that recorder, and you put it somewhere else. I don't care if you don't want Percy to see it; you can put it under the stands for all I care. Nick's an alright guy. And you're pretty much a loon.”

“Shut up! Shut _up!_ ” she shrieked, and there was a sound--

somewhere between a thud

and a crunch

and a wet, squelching sound

and then a heavy something crumpling to the ground

and Nick Valentine knew the sound of a murder when he heard one.

Nat's eyes were wide, huge, dark circles with too much white showing. _Nat!_ he mouthed. _You're ok. You're ok._

He took her by the shoulders, and pulled her close. “You're okay,” he said, a whisper right in her ear.

“Must... be a synth,” came Myrna's voice, breathless, high, and reedy. “Gotta be a--” and there was another noise, and Nat flinched against him. “Gotta be metal parts. Metal parts. Have to be in here.” A tearing of clothing, the _thunk_ of an arm falling lifelessly to the ground. All sounds he'd heard before in a long and heartbreaking career. All sounds Nat never should have heard. 

Too late, he clapped his hands over Nat's ears, but she flinched against him again when Myrna shrieked, “ _Where are your goddamn cybernetic parts?_ "

He lifted one hand. “Go. Get your sister, Nate, Ellie. Get someone. Don't come back.”

“Nick-” she whispered, and in a flash, she hugged him, the fierce hug of a child. She stood on legs that shook, used a trembling hand to steady herself, looked left and right at the corner of the shack, and then she was gone, flying away free across the nearby bridges. He sent up a prayer for the kid, wondered if God listened to old robots when He clearly wasn't taking many requests these days. 

Inside, there was panting. “Where are... your...” she said again, and Nick was half-risen from his crouch when the door opened. He could smell blood in an instant.

“They'll blame it on a synth,” she muttered, and her teeth clattered against each other in the warm night air. “Has to have been... He must be... I just didn't look hard enough-” In the darkness, she staggered to a stop at the edge of the standing water and stopped. “I can't believe I-” She crouched at the edge of the water, and reached down to wash the blood from her hands.

He shot to his feet, his gun coming up in a practiced arc. “Freeze!” Nick barked. And before he could quite help himself, old, familiar words came next. “You're under arrest!”

“Arrest?” came her voice. She was backlit by the city lights, haloed in white light. When she stood up, her hands dripped. She stood still as he stepped closer. 

“On the ground!” he barked. “Hands out and on the ground!”

 _You never want to have to arrest a man who's too crazy or two stupid to know he's beat._ The voice of his first partner came back with perfect clarity despite all the years that separated the green rookie from the synth. _Or someone with nothing to loose. They'll get you if you don't watch out._

And with a scream, Myrna launched herself at Nick.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone commenting; you guys make my day!

Nick had always carried a revolver. They were heavy, they were intimidating, and they so seldom misfired. So all other things being equal, at this range with a damn handcannon, there was little enough chance to miss. 

But she stared him right in the eye, and for a half-second those dark eyes were not hers, but another woman's eyes, maddened not by fear and anger, but by pain.

* * * *

 _“Don't touch me! Don't- Nicky will find you. Where is- Get... get away! Get away! Don't- don't- Who_ are you? _”_

_“Head wound take people funny sometimes,” said one of the paramedics, Jackson. Blue and red lights flashed, lighting the curb, his bloodied hands, Jackson's face. The paramedic was the only one who'd talked to him. Was the only one who heard what she said at the end. It's the first of several mercies: next came a smoke and a slug of cheap bourbon that burned its way down his chest. Jackson kept tabs on him for weeks, talked to him when nobody else knew what to say, took him out when he needed a drink (often), made sure he ate sometimes (not enough). It ended up in a blowjob a couple of months later, a tearful, wretched thing, after which he'd held Nick as he drunkenly wept._

_It was one of his last memories. Last strong ones anyway._

_Jenny had--_

_Hair like chocolate, eyes to match--_

_A wicked sense of of humor, a vicious loyalty to the Sox, the ability to charm the pants off a snake, and a simple and uncomplicated faith in Nick as One of the Good Guys. She had--_

_Destroyed him. Flayed the flesh from his bones, the soul from his body._

* * * *

When Myrna leapt, even if he couldn't shoot, he managed to act, to bring the pistol up in a gunmetal-grey arc of cold fury at the bolt of anguish that shot through him, fury for Jenny, for Abbot, for Nat, for Ellie. 

Her head whipped back with the impact and in the next fraction of a second she crashed into him. They went down in a tangle of limbs among the discarded tires. 

And it was a testament to his strength of will, to the real Nick's strength of character, that he didn't just beat the holy hell out of her, but rolled to the side and pushed her to the ground. He grabbed her arm, pushed against her elbow with his metal hand, taking the joint almost to breaking, and held her. “I don't want to kill you!” he bellowed. “Stop! Stop moving!” 

She twisted and kicked and clawed, shrieking like a wounded animal, and so he dropped a knee into the small of her back. “Be _still_!” But she twisted again, managed to to kick him in the side, and he shifted out of reach, brought his weight and strength to bear against her back. 

Myrna fell still and silent. Her panting was the only sound, a rasp of breath through wasteland-poisoned lungs. She made a soft noise, a mewl of pain, but under his hands the muscles of her thin arms bunched as she prepared to buck. 

“ _ **No.**_ ” He said it like he was speaking to a dog he didn't trust, a fierce command, a play for fear and respect, and with that she settled, but didn't go limp. 

They passed perhaps a minute like that. He tried to talk to her once. “Myrna. Why'd you do it?” But she was only more agitated when he spoke, bowing up against his weight, as though she could pretend ignorance of who... of _what_ was holding her as long as she couldn't see or hear him. 

Miracle of miracles, he heard footsteps. But in his hands, she became a live wire, thrashing and screaming. “The Synth attacked me!” she screamed at the same time Nick yelled, “Get Security! We need help!”

“What?” said a startled voice. “Myrna? Valentine? Get off of her!”

He looked up into the bland, scarred face of Connell. And if he could have blanched, this would have been the time for it. 

The rifle in the Securtiy officer's hands came up. “Let her go!” he barked. 

“Connell!” said Nick. “She killed--”

The butt of the gun crashed into his face, and Nick was grudgingly impressed, even as he fell backward, even as he yanked Myrna's arm as he went. It dislocated from her shoulder with an audible pop, and she screamed. 

“Down on the ground! Down on the ground!” Connell bashed him again, but this time he lost the element of surprise, and Nick caught the stock, pushed it away using Connell's momentum against him. The security guard staggered forward, and in the instant of confusion, Nick tried to tell him what happened, how badly whatever plan he had with Myrna had gone wrong. 

His jaw, however, remained stubbornly shut, only the tiniest creak of metal fatigue warning him not to push it. 

He waved his hands. Pointed at the shack, at Myrna where she writhed on the ground, wrapped around her arm to protect it. “Connoll,” she whined. “Connoll, the synth murdered Abbot!”

If his jaw had been working, Nick would have sworn.

Connell's rifle wavered. “I should look at the body-”

“ _Kill him, oh god, Connell!_ ” she screamed. 

The gun swung toward him, and Nick's arm came up at the same time. He could see Connell's throat work, see his big adam's apple rise and fall. Lizard-quick, the guard's tongue darted out to wet chapped lips. 

For his part, Nick wondered what a rifle at such close range would do to his head. Same thing it did to most heads, he decided: little hole going in, big hole coming out. 

_Look at the body. Look!_ He tried to say it but with his jaw jammed, the muscle tissue-like system that controlled his mouth refused to cooperate. 

“Jesus,” said the guard. The rifle rattled. 

A shrill scream pierced the dark, and Connell jerked up, his rifle swiginging to the right as he half-turned, training his rifle on--

_Nat._

“Don't you hurt him!” she screamed, and dropped his coat as she barrelled forward. He was to his feet in an instant, running for her, snatching her up and curving his body over hers to protect her, tensing, waiting for the bullets to tear into him. 

Instead, they arrived like the cavalry, haloed by the city lights behind them: Nate, Ellie, Piper. They ran after Nat, and he cursed himself for not spotting them sooner. But what would he have changed? Protecting Nat from Connell was the important thing. Was the only thing. 

“Put down the gun! PUT DOWN THE GUN!” yelled Nate, shouldering a rifle of his own. And when he heard it drop with a rattle, Nick's knees collapsed out from under him, and he pulled Nat closer, brought his hand up behind her head and held her until the shaking stopped.


	10. Chapter 10

“Nick? Nick? Um. I think it's okay now,” said a small voice next to his ear. 

It hardly seemed possible. But there was Piper on the edge of his vision as he looked up, bending over Nat, her brows knitted in an expression between terror and anger. “Are you two okay? Nat? Answer me!” Firm hands pulled Nat away from Nick, smoothed brown wisps of hair from a too-pale face, squeezed limbs for reassurance. 

“I'm okay, I'm okay! Piper, stoppit!” Nat twisted away. “Something's wrong with Nick.”

“Can someone please fill me in on what the hell is going on?” called Nate. “When the rest of Diamond City Security comes to execute me without a trial, I want to know why.”

“Nick?” said Ellie. “God, what's happened to you now?” She dropped to her knees to come eye-level with him, and her hand cradled his jaw. He put his hand up over hers, flexing his jaw to try to open it, and her eyes grew wide. “I think they broke his jaw.” He nodded, and that was when he began to register the pain, the scream of overloaded sensors laced with the closest thing to nerve endings the Institute had been able to fabricate when they made him. He'd had his jaw busted once—the old Nick had, at any rate. This felt remarkably similar. 

Nate swore. “Connell, you prick. Down on the ground the rest of the way. Kick that rifle away.” 

Ellie's hands tugged at his arms. “Can you get up, boss? You're scaring me a little.” He let her hands guide him to his feet, and he bent, picking up his hat from where it had fallen in the scuffle.

“So-what _did_ happen? How are we supposed to explain-?” began Nate. 

Nat pushed Piper away. “Uhm. Myrna killed Abbot. He was helping her because she told him there was a Synth hiding in the city. But then she told him she was after Nick, and he kinda laughed at her. And made fun of her. And she screamed at him and there was this sound...” 

He glanced at Myrna. She was wan, her eyes shut, and from the lack of tension in her posture, she seemed to have passed out. It was a relief. 

“You saw it?” asked Piper, aghast. 

“No. No!” said Nat. “I... heard it. Kinda. Nick put his hands over my ears so I wouldn't, but he's got, like, one hand that might work with. But. It kinda helped anyway. So thanks.” She took Nick's hand in hers, his metal one, and gave it a squeeze. He squeezed back, but shut his eyes. “Anyway, when it was quiet for a minute, he told me to run, to get help.” She pulled on Nick's hand, and so he looked down at her. “I went back to the city and found them at the Dugout Inn, and screamed for them to come help, and then I ran back here.”

“And almost got shot!” said Piper in a tone Nick associated with people about to lose their lunch. 

“I didn't almost get shot. I just got a gun pointed at me, and that happens to you guys all the time. Besides, Nick wouldn't have let me get shot.”

His legs didn't want to seem to hold him. He staggered a little, sat down on the edge of the tires, and put his face in his free hand. But she pulled at his hand again. “Look,” she said in a low tone. “I know people get hurt. Like all the time. And kids get hurt and killed, too. But I just... He was going to hurt you, so I... I just wanted to help. So you don't get to be mad.”

“I don't get to be mad?” said Piper. “Oh, hell, this changes everything.”

“Still aiming a rifle at two people,” called Nate. 

“I think... I think I've made a huge mistake,” said Connell. “I'm going to be in... I've... Oh, shit.”

“Which mistake?” asked Nate in a low tone. “Helping a psycho bitch kidnap Ellie? Helping her torment Nick? Or the part where you beat the hell out of him?” The tone became softer, raspier. “Because I would love to know which one your 'mistake' was?”

“I didn't--! I didn't kidnap anyone. I just... She said she needed me to give her information, to hook her up with some people. She said she was going to bring Valentine down a few pegs, and--”

“What's your problem with Nick?” demanded Nat. “Are you _stupid_? Don't you know he helps people? Aren't _you_ supposed to help people, too?”

“No,” said Ellie. “No, he's supposed to keep them safe. So, what, you bought into Myrna's synth crap, and thought you were protecting people? Thought Nick was a danger?”

“No, I--”

Nick stood, and turned, narrowing his eyes. Connell's shoulders hunched in and down. “We... I mean, we investigate things. Sometimes, I mean. We could do it if it wasn't that someone else keeps... Look, I didn't want him hurt. I just wanted to see his business hurt some.” 

“Myrna's crazy,” said Ellie. “But plain old jealousy will do the trick too, I guess. Jealous of the real detective, when you're just a jumped-up thug. An _enforcer_ for the mayor.” Ellie's voice trembled as she spoke, and Nick wanted to tell her--

He didn't know what he wanted to tell her. Not to worry about him? Not to get worked up on his account? Not to make enemies among the guards? What was a man supposed to tell his righteously angry secretary when she tried to protect him?

“No, I--” said Connell. But he slumped, staring off toward town, and Nick followed his gaze. 

“Here comes security,” scoffed Ellie. “Never around when you need them to be. Idiots.”

“Mm,” said Piper. “Maybe I should do the talking.”

“You'll tell them what happened,” said Nate, relaxing his rifle without quite untraining it from a spot between Connell's eyebrows. “Or by god, I will kill you myself. Killing you the second time will be harder, but I'll get it done.”

“Second time?” said Connell, and there was skepticism now. 

“Oh yes,” Nate said, pitching his voice quiet and low. “Nick is a dead man, you see? They brought him back. And I'll do the same to you, and by god, you will suffer. So you'll explain everything. Every last thing. And if I think you held anything back, well... I'll see you in my workshop.”

Connell's gaze settled on Nick. His face crumpled, and Nate's mouth curved up the barest smile. 

“Thank you,” said Nate, “for your assistance. We'll remember this.”

He was talking before security even quite arrived.

 

* * *

They'd walked back together. Nat hadn't let go of his hand, and on his other side, Ellie held the crook of his elbow. Myrna had been taken into custody, Connell had spilled his guts, but they had hardly learned a single new thing. He knew a little about each of the kidnappers, and Ellie had dutifully written each new detail down. But Connell, it seemed, had been duped almost as much as poor Abbot, and Gomer was still in the wild.

He felt fuzzy, out of focus. The blow to the face? Or just the terrible wisdom that came with age? The knowledge that most crimes were committed for petty, banal reasons, that good people died for stupid reasons every day? Ellie spoke to him, Piper said something about wanting to hear a real good reason for her little sister to have been out there in the first place, and Nate... Nate was as silent as he was, following just behind him. 

At the Agency, he took his coat back from Nat, hung it on the wall, and took his seat at his desk. She climbed up and sat on the edge of it, watching him carefully. He patted his pockets for a cigarette before realizing his locked jaw wasn't going to accommodate vice tonight. Ellie and Piper had withdrawn upstairs to speak, and Nate sat across from him. He opened the drawer of the desk, looked in, closed it.

“Nick?” said Nat softly. 

“Hm?” he managed, and it was the closest thing to words he'd managed in the last hour. The closest thing he'd _wanted_ to manage. Nate started, and his eyes met Nick's for an instant over the top of Nat's head. 

“Why did Myrna do it? Why'd she hate you so much? Why kill Abbot? People get killed for, like, money and food. And I kinda get that. There isn't enough money or food, and some people think it's easier to just take it than to.... But it kinda makes sense. Kinda. But Myrna...” Her chin dimpled and her lips twitched down, as near to tears at Nick had ever seen her. 

He untangled his hand from hers, and pulled a sheet of paper and one of Ellie's pencils over. It took him several long seconds to gather his thoughts, but when he did, he started writing. 

_People can be broken, just the same as robots. Takahashi can only say one thing because something is scrambled in his head. Myrna can only think about one thing for the same reason. She's afraid because something is wrong with her. A chemical in her brain doesn't work right, or something happened to her that left her afraid forever. She probably isn't evil. She didn't want to hurt people because it would make her happier. Just because she was so afraid that she couldn't stand it any longer. People like Myrna are rare. So are people like you. Take better care of yourself for me, alright, doll?_

She looked at the paper for a long time. He watched her dark eyes move, watched them scan up the page and read again. She sat, quiet, when Nate asked if he could read it as well, and handed over the paper without saying a word, and when Nate was done, he gave it back. She read it a third time, and then folded it and tucked it into her coat pocket. 

“Okay, kiddo,” said Piper, coming back down the stairs. “You ready to go home? Ellie and I think we're probably in the clear since Myrna and Connell are in custody. That just leaves Gomer, it seems like, so it's probably safe to go home to sleep.”

Nat stood, and looked between Nick and her sister. 

“Nick's going to be alright,” said Nate. “I'm going to make sure he's okay. Come on over in the morning with Piper, and I'll probably have him fixed up by lunch time.”

“Okay,” said Nat. She hugged him abruptly, and he heard the smallest sniffle. “It's stupid that you got hurt,” she said, her face pressed to his side, her voice muffled. “Stop being stupid, okay?”

He nodded, and as she stepped away, he ruffled her hair. She groaned, and he winked. “You suck,” she said, but she almost laughed when she said it. 

The light of the Agency sign spilled across the floor as they walked out, and then was gone again. 

Ellie hitched a hip up on the edge of the desk. “By noon, huh?” she asked, skeptical. 

“I don't know,” said Nate. He cupped Nick's jaw in his hands, and turned his face to the side. “The work in his jaw and his mouth is so delicate. They could have set him up with just a synthesized voice, but they gave him a voice box instead. He's as close to human in his face and mouth as they could manage, I think.”

Nick closed his eyes, and opened them. He touched Nate's wrist, and tilted an eyebrow at him. 

“Yeah?” said Nick. 

He pointed at himself. Held up his right hand. Pointed at the floor.

“I-- I'm sorry, I don't understand,” said Nate, lost.

“He said 'I'm right here,'” said Ellie. “And, uh, fair point. We were talking kind of... over your head. Sorry boss.”

He pointed at each of them in turn, mimed closing his eyes and laying down his head. 

“Get some sleep,” said Ellie. 

“I got that, yeah,” said Nate. He sighed. “I really want to start working on your jaw, but you're right. I should probably start fresh in the morning. I, uh, don't really want to stay at the Dugout. Can I crash here?”

“God, yes,” said Ellie. “Don't even think about leaving. I've got an extra pillow around here somewhere, even.”

“I just... didn't really want to be alone.”

“Me neither,” said Ellie. “Nick?”

He shook his head. 

“Figured,” she said. She slipped off her shoes and sighed. “Nick gets a little sleep at night. Well, it's more of a diagnostic period, but it's pretty close. So who has to sleep alone?”

“Uh,” said Nate. He looked back and forth between Ellie and Nick, and colored ever so slightly.

“Figured,” she said, and headed upstairs. A few seconds later a pillow dropped down from above with slightly more force than was necessary. 

“Ellie?” called Nate, walking to the edge of the stairs. “Why don't you just bring your mattress down, and we'll figure something out?”

Silence. Then, “Oh. Okay.”

“Well,” said Nate to Nick. “Things just got complicated, I think.”

He couldn't have disagreed if he wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh who the heck is this author even shipping anyway?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is there a tag for dub-con snuggling?

Nick Valentine had lived a strange and long life. Twice, to be specific. But never in either sets of memories could he recall a situation in which two people had engaged in a slow tug-of-war over him while he desperately tried to get a little shut-eye. 

The mattresses had been arranged on the floor side by side, and Nick had been urged—nay, ordered—to lay in the middle. Which had suited him fine until he realized Ellie and Nate had not so much wanted the comfort of his presence as they had wanted to be the one to comfort him. Ellie had stripped down to just her dress, which was hardly a new sight. Nate was down to his vault suit, his armor all carefully stacked in the corner of the office. 

Then they laid down, one on either side of him, and for a few long, silent minutes, each of them tried to be ever so still and mindful of each other. Then, finally, Nate had sighed, rolled, and curled up against Nick. Not thirty seconds later Ellie did the same. Nick, for his part, kept his eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling. 

“Nick, I-” began Nate. 

“Nicky-” said Ellie.

Silence, then Ellie burst into a fit of giggles. “Nate,” she hiccoughed. “Nate, if either of us was about to say or do something ridiculous, maybe now is the time to wonder if now is the time. Maybe once you get Nick's jaw fixed tomorrow?”

“I just wanted to say that I was sorry I was too tired to fix it tonight,” said Nate stiffly. “Obviously.”

“And obviously I was just going to say goodnight,” said Ellie. Then tacked on, “While we're telling outrageous lies.”

There was an assortment of huffing, a deep and heartfelt sigh from Nick, and several minutes of tactical revision until everyone had something they could live with. 

In the end, they arranged themselves so that Nick curled against Ellie, and Nate plastered himself against Nick. For his part, Nick wasn't so sure how they would have felt about the arrangement on a day that had been less harrowing. But Ellie smelled warm and ever so gently of soap; something that never ceased surprising him. And Nate's hand found his hip and settled there. The two of them dropped off to sleep, and he stayed awake for a long time, listening to them breathe.

He didn't drop off into the half-sleep that his diagnostics brought him, a semi-stupor in which time passed quickly, and Nick found it easiest to access old memories on his own. Sometimes he rememered dreaming. Remembered the strangeness of it, the weird logic that sleep brought to the most inane dreams. It was one of a thousand things he missed, from sleep and getting drunk all the way to things as simple as getting a haircut or popping his knuckles. 

Instead, he worked through his shock, through his rattled nerves, slowly pulled himself together. And the more his head became clear, the more uncomfortable he became. Why did these two seem to be implying what he thought they were? Was he reading too much into it? Were they just as rattled as he was, and merely wanted the comfort of laying next to another person? Why _him_?

Then Nate's arm shifted, pulling them closer in his sleep. Nick looked down at the arm around his middle and remembered the extra pillows lined up back in Nate's bed in Sanctuary, recalled his passing curiosity if it meant Nate was having trouble sleeping alone. Years of marriage, then thrust into an unkind world by himself. Whatever it was that Nate needed right now, this at least was his to offer. 

He tucked his chin over the top of Ellie's head, and just before he dropped into his diagnostics, he heard the faintest sound of contentment, a noise he might have called a coo in a less fierce woman. 

If he'd been able, he might have smiled. 

 

* * * *

 

“Nick, this is almost more than I can fix.”

He slanted an eyebrow at Nate, who held up a hand. “Almost. I'm like ninety percent sure I can fix this damage, but these parts are so delicate. Try and not get hit in the face any more than you have to, right?”

“Mm,” said Nick, and rolled his eyes. 

“I mean, sure, we all _want_ to avoid getting hit in the face,” said Ellie from her position sitting on a filing cabinet. “But life is hard like that.”

“I'm just saying this is very hard on me,” said Nate, which merited another eye-roll. 

Nat and Piper had come and gone, leaving to go to the Security offices and see if anyone had been able to get details out of Myrna. At Nick's surprised noise, Piper had promised Nat would stay outside. He'd felt marginally better for knowing that Piper would try to keep them separate. It was one thing they could do for Nat, even if she didn't know she needed it. 

“I have great faith in your ability to fix anything,” said Ellie. 

“Why is that?” 

“Because after you did what you did with the stimpack, the hole in his neck is a little smaller,” said Ellie. 

Nick jerked his head back in shock, and Nate cursed, nearly dropping his tools. “Well, it is,” she said. 

“I can't tell a difference,” said Nate carefully. 

“Well, I can, and I've known Nick for fifteen years, so...”

“If there's a difference, we're talking millimeters. Tops.”

“You're the one who said that modified stimpack might work for that tear.”

“I also said it super might not since I don't really understand the organic parts of Nick's physiology and how they interact with the mechanical bits. This is seat of the pants science, okay?”

“Why are you so determined to believe it didn't work?”

“Why are you pretending it did?”

“Because it did!”

“It _didn't_! And we agreed not to hold out false hope!”

The whirr of the office fan was the only sound as Nick slowly stood. He heaved a sigh, and secretary and vault-dweller alike managed twin expressions of mortification. Ellie broke first.

“Jeez, Nick. I'm sorry. I-- I do think I see a difference, and we weren't trying to hold anything back from you, it's just...” She always blushed unevenly. A spot on each cheek, and one on the left side of her jaw, a splotch that he found endearing. “We didn't... Nate and I...”

“I knew that stimpacks worked on some of your organic systems,” said Nate. “But your skin has all these different things happening in it. I can't grow new sensors in the places the skin is just gone, but I think there's a reasonable chance we can grow new skin there. I don't even know if you'd want it or care, so of course we decided to have a fucking snit fit about it right now when you can't talk. But the option may be on the table. Assuming Ellie's three millimeters of new skin aren't imaginary. Even if Ellie is delusional-”

“I'm glad you've decided to be the bigger man.”

“Even if Ellie is _mistaken_ , I think there's hope. See, I'd worried that you might... that you might get so hurt that you'd be worried about... that you'd one day-”

“You talk about yourself bad all the time, Nick,” said Ellie, softly. “'This ugly mug' being a favorite. You told me once you worried about scaring kids for godssake. I thought it would be better for you to have... options.”

He closed his eyes. He seemed to be doing a lot of that, lately. He could feel his brows knitting together, could practically hear worry radiating off his two-- friends? 

Niggling worries presented themselves. There were kind and unkind explanations here. And-

His eyes opened when Ellie took his hands in hers. “Look, boss,” she said softly. “Neither of us cares if you do it. Or if it works. But one day you could get hurt. Really hurt. (Like these last few days haven't been bad enough.) And if you've got the option to grow new skin, you should know it. You talk so bad about yourself,” she said. She smiled at him, a sad little thing. “I think if you thought you might scare people, you might just disappear on us.” 

He tilted his head, an acknowledgement, if not an agreement. 

“Boss, you came into the world with a heart bigger than your brain, and that's saying something. And it's funny to me how both of those things seem to work on everybody but you. Show yourself a little of that kindness you're always talking about. Because you're right. It's the most important thing. So if Nate can do it, and I can talk you into it, well. I think you ought to think about it.” 

In a way, this was easier without the ability to speak. Even if he'd had the option, he wasn't sure he could have. 

Slowly, he nodded.

 

* * * *

 

Nate's mood had done an about face with Nick's agreement, and the repairs started to move along at a rather quick clip. He watched Nate's face as he worked, watched the minute expressions, the pleased twitches of his lips, the brief frowns, the intense gaze of concentration. 

And when his jaw had finally come open, when his mouth came back online, and the last bit of his skin was reattached, the first thing he said to Nate wasn't _thank you,_ but, “I understand.”

“Hot damn! I can't believe that worked. I was really worried for a minute that you'd... understand what?”

“Why you do what you do. Why you did this for me,” he said gesturing at his throat, at the scar on his cheek. “I just wanted you to know that I understood.”

Nate glanced up at the door, as though anticipating Ellie might arrive back with lunch at any moment. “Do you?” he asked flatly.

“Let's say,” said Nick, “that you wake up in a strange new world, and are immediately thrown neck-deep into the wasteland. And that even though it's been years since you lost the woman you love, the wound is still fresh, because to you, hardly any time has passed.” He took a breath. “What I'm saying, doll, is that I understand grief. I never met a girl named Jenny. But the real Nick...”

Nate slapped his screwdriver down onto the desk. “The real Nick. You know you're the real Nick, right? I don't care if you're a synth or a ghoul or a human. You're maybe the realest person I know, Nick. You're the only Nick I've ever known, and you remember _being_ the pre-war Nick, so--”

“If you don't want to talk about it, sweetheart, I understand. You don't have to change the subject like that.”

Nate sat down. “I-”

“You're angry. You're hurt. You're ready to take on the world and change it, because if you stop moving, you have time to think. So you try and fix everyone and everything around you. Now, I'm not going to say I don't need a little fixing. But try to remember: if you do want to think about it, if you do want to talk, I'm your guy.”

“You're my guy?” said Nate. “Be still, my heart.”

“Laugh it up, knucklehead,” said Nick, and lightly slapped Nate's shoulder. “I'm serious.”

“I know,” said Nate. “But I've already been involved in too many emotional crises before lunch.”

“Speaking of which, not exactly fair to spring things on a guy who can't talk,” said Nick. “Between the sleeping arrangements and-”

“Too many emotions, shutting down, beep-boop,” said Nate. He laid back across Nick's desk dramatically. 

And that, of course was when Ellie walked in.

“Oh my god,” she said, nearly dropping the box in her arms. “I've missed the making out and I'm just in time for the deflowering.”

“You have to be a virgin to get deflowered,” said Nate, sitting up. “And I, madame, take umbrage.” He took the box from her while she stood laughing, and started sorting through the food.

“Boys,” she said, as soon as Nate sat down to eat. “We've got a lead. Vadim saw Gomer. He'll talk to us as soon as the lunch rush is over.”

“Hot damn,” said Nate again. “That sounds like a thing where we run around getting things done instead of talking about our feelings any more.”

“Thank god,” said Ellie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, more mystery, fewer people having feelings at each other.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking a couple of days break from posting to do some research, by which I mean play a butt ton of Fallout and then go to my D&D game. This is adulthood, kids.

The Dugout Inn was exactly the kind of dive that the old Nick would have loved to hate, or maybe hated to love. When he got off a shift, he was the kind of cop who wanted to drink in sullen silence, and the Dugout provided plenty of that. He'd spent plenty of time in dive bars, on and off shift, chasing down leads or just a little bit of relief from a world that threatened to break his heart a hundred times a day. 

The old Nick had loved a good drink, and, if he was being honest, a bad one, too. At his worst, even the cheap scotch had been too good for him. He sometimes wondered about that other Nick. If he'd ever pulled himself together after Jenny's death, after he'd walked into the Institute on a sunny, cloudless day. If the end of the world had found him a wreck or if he'd ever recovered. He honestly didn't know which one would be worse. 

Vadim was running a damp rag over the bar when they walked in, and with a glance up, he gestured they should meet him in the back room. The man could say a lot with an eyebrow. Nick admired that. 

“My friends!” he greeted them. “You are not here to chit-chat, so I will get right to the business. You asked last night about a man bringing around a holotape, yes?”

Nate nodded. “I'm glad Scarlett told you. We didn't have time to come talk to you ourselves; we had a bit of a problem we had to attend to.”

“A bit of a problem!” laughed Vadim. “And this morning after you have this 'problem' Myrna and Connell are behind the bars, and the three of you are thicker than thieves. Okay, okay. Is none of my business.” 

“So Scarlett told you...” prompted Ellie. 

“Scarlett told me, yes. She had just started her shift, and didn't know there had been a 'problem' that morning with a man who came in with something to sell. He is short man, young, looks over his shoulder like he expects Deathclaw to breathe down his back at any moment. He comes up to the bar sideways, like he thinks he is casual guy. Says he has something to show me. Me, I think here is another weirdo out of the wastes who thinks I sell flesh. I say no thanks! And he says no, he has a holo he can give me to see. Says is very important tape. So I say okay, I will look.”

Nick cursed. “So you saw it?”

“Ehh. I see part of it, and he keeps looking at me like he wants to know what I think. And my face tells him a story he doesn't want to hear, I think. So he pulls out the tape and starts for the door. So I grabbed him by the collar and by the belt, and I throw him out the front door so hard he looses a shoe. Is new record for throwing out trash! Too bad no one was there to see it, yes?” He dusted his hands off, and worked his mouth like he was about to spit.

Vadim reached out and touched the tips of Ellie's short hair. “Is too bad. But it is only hair. Hair comes back. So does pride.” He shrugged. 

“Huh,” said Nick. “About what time of day was this?”

“A few hours before dark? Not late enough that I had nighttime crowd in yet.”

“And did he say anything else about where he was going? What his plans were?” asked Nick. 

“No, no. Nothing. But he stood there looking like sad idiot in front of the bar once he stood up, and I yelled at him to get out of town, to go to Goodneighbor where the trash goes. And he just picked up his tape, and turned and ran toward the gate. I don't know. Maybe this helps; maybe it is just a yellow herring.”

“Red herring,” corrected Nick. “Vadim? You're a good man.” 

“Hah! I like throwing out the trash. Free of charge, Valentine.” He elbowed Ellie. “I saw until you ran! Is good that you did. Always run from crazy half-naked yelling men. You come to Vadim for help if this one gives you any trouble, eh?” And with that, he ambled back out to the bar, still chortling to himself. 

“Well,” said Ellie after a moment. “That's mortifying.”

“You're telling me,” said Nick. He tipped his hat back a shade. “Well. Pretty flimsy lead, but it's what we've got. Let's check in with Piper and see if she found anything out over at Security.”

“Lead on, crazy yelling man,” said Nate.

* * * *

Nat met them at the door of Publick Occurences with a shriek and a lunge, tackling Nick's middle. “You smiled! You're better. Ugh. Took you long enough,” she said to Nate. 

“Let's see you do better,” Nate said, then held up a hand. “Not an invitation to try yourself next time.”

“Already planning to get Nick hurt again?” sniped Nat. 

“Oo-kay, that's enough of that,” said Piper, hauling Nat back by the collar. “Down, girl.” 

“Hey, kid,” said Nick, and ruffled her hair. 

“You still suck. Nate, why didn't you fix the fact that he sucks?”

Nick watched a small, but important, battle play out on Nate's face between the forces of telling her off, and making a lewd joke. In the end, he settled for, “We like him the way he is. If you're annoyed, it's only a happy bonus.” With that he reached out and ruffled her hair. 

Nat made a small motion as though she might bite him. “Next time you bring back a nub, vault-man.”

“Children, children,” soothed Ellie. “There's plenty of Nick to go around. No need for the scuffle.”

“That's me,” said Nick. “A friend to all man.”

“You're thinking of the dog,” said Nate. 

“That's me,” tried Nick again. “A friend to most of mankind, but not quite as friendly as the dog. No. No, it just doesn't come trippingly off the tongue.”

“We went and saw Vadim,” said Ellie, making a valiant attempt to ignore the two men. “He saw part of the holo. Threw our guy out and told him to run away to Goodneighbor with the rest of the trash.”

“Interesting,” said Piper. “Connell talked a little more, but one of the few interesting things he said was that he thought that Goodneighbor is where Red recruited Gomer. He didn't know the guy's name either. Said Red just called him 'idiot.'”

“Hm. Looks like we're going to Goodneighbor,” said Nick. “Nate, you and I can-”

“I'm going, too,” said Ellie.

“Goodneighbor is a rough town, doll,” said Nick. “And the trip there isn't exactly a stroll in the park.”

“I can handle it,” she said. 

“No way,” said Nate. “That town is pure anarchy. The mayor is a smooth talking jet addicted ghoul, the only watering hole is seedy, and...” he trailed off as Ellie's eyes shone with excitement.

“Way to sell it, vault-man,” said Nat.

 

* * * *

 

“Am I the only one,” said Nate, “getting the sense that the kid is jealous of us?”

“She's feeling protective,” said Ellie. “And I think she's got a little crush.”

“Nah,” said Nick. “She's just got a tongue like a knife, and I just happened to get on her good side.” He stopped by a pile of rubble and lit a cigarette. “Smart as can be, too. She just hasn't learned to keep her nastier comments to herself, yet.”

“You do seem to have a talent for falling in with sharp-tongued women,” said Nate.

“Hush,” said Ellie. “Even at that age, I wasn't nearly as bad as Nat.”

“Huh,” said Nick. “Now, I didn't meet you until you were a few years older, but I do remember you asking if my extended warranty was still in place.”

She cringed. “Jeeze, I'm sorry, Nick. I thought I was being cute instead of cruel.”

“Well,” he said, taking a drag. “You were always funny. You just used to be a funny brat.”

“Ouch,” said Nate. He reached over and squeezed Ellie on the shoulder. “Don't worry too much. I was a horrible creature as a teenager.”

“He's already admitted to a leather jacket and slicked up hair,” said Nick. “And to both science club and football.”

“Football, huh? You were a whatchacallit. A jock?” asked Ellie

“A jock, a nerd, and a too-cool greaser kid all rolled into one. I had a bit of an identity crisis in high school.” 

“Sounds sexy,” she teased. “Why the identity crisis?”

“I had to work through some things. Like...” He stopped and cocked his head as if listening, then shook it. “Like this,” he said, and leaned in toward Nick, brushing his lips over the synth's. “And this,” he said, and did the same to Ellie.

“Well, damn,” said Ellie. She pressed her fingertips to her lips. “Nicky...”

“Oh, I kiss you and you say Nick's name? I get it,” said Nate. Then, “Nick?”

“Shh,” said Nick. 

“Savoring the moment?”

“ _Shh!_ ” hissed Nick. He unholstered his gun, and within an instant, Nate's gun was in his hand. 

And there it was: the rumble of a distant explosion to one side, and the baying of dogs to the other. 

“Heard gunshots,” said Nick. “Barely. We need to move before those dogs turn up.” 

He handed a spare pistol to Ellie, who handled it like she was afraid it would explode. “I can't believe I never got around to teaching you to shoot,” he growled. The three of them started off at quick walk. The hounds bayed again, closer, and the walk became a jog.

“You know,” said Ellie, “I feel like there's a lot I can learn from you, boss.” She pitched her voice low and sultry. 

“Really?” he said. “Is now the time for that?”

“I'm thinking you'll have to wrap your arms around me to help me learn to aim and squeeeze the trigger.”

Nate laughed. “Me next,” he called softly.

“Still having trouble handling a gun?” Nick asked. “Tch. Well, I've got a little experience in that department.” 

Nate stumbled, recovered with a few staggered quick steps, and righted himself with another laugh, this one delighted. The hounds bayed again, closer still, and then they were sprinting the last few blocks to Goodneighbor. 

If he'd had a heart, it would have been pounding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ended up all shmoopy after all. These things happen.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://imgur.com/a/MQjYh Click it! Because the delightful Nicole ( dat-eyebrows.tumblr.com ) has done drawings (YES) of scenes. She's all like "They're just doodles" and I'm all like @_@ <3 <3 <3

“Now, tell me—which of my bad qualities did you fall in love with first?”  
Much Ado About Nothing Act 5, Scene 2. 

* * * *

 

It took mere hours for the afternoon's good mood to evaporate. 

Nate went first, his usual sense of humor disappearing as lead after lead on Gomer failed to turn up a single useful thing. Ellie went next after her attempts at buoying Nate were deflected at every turn with an ill-tempered frown or stony silence. But it was when Nate snapped at her that Ellie's unflappable good nature... flapped. 

For his part, Nick wasn't terribly concerned when leads fizzled. Stool pigeons relocated to friendlier environs. People who knew something turned out not to. It wasn't unusual to have a fruitless afternoon in detective work. 

The weather certainly wasn't helping. Hot, humid, and still, not even the slightest breeze stirred the trash in the streets of Goodneighbor. Even Nick felt it, the heaviness of the air forcing his systems to work harder to filter the moisture, forcing him to breathe more to cool the same systems...

He wondered sometimes what had made him a failed experiment. Too much of his original personality? Not enough of the real Nick's memories? An utter lack of loyalty to the Institute? Or some mechanical problem? He had, admittedly, a tendency to overheat in the dog days of summer. He could process a stimpack but most of the other chems and medications were lost causes. 

Or maybe they'd just reviewed his file and decided they had no use for a robot whose memory and personality was based on a dead man. In particular, he imagined they didn't need one whose depression had been so terrible that he'd volunteered as a guinea pig on the slim chance that there might be respite for him at the end of it all. 

He felt heavy and old, useless in the face of Nate's black mood and Ellie's hurt silence. The speed with which Nate had sunk worried him. They had a few leads that could be run down the next day—out of town traders, a man who knew of a bolt-hole Gomer had used was out of town as well. A woman who had been so drunk and high on med-x that her husband had told them to come back the next day. It was a paltry few leads, but Nick had done a lot with far less to go on in the past. Still, it left him tired, glum, reflective. 

And Nate's mood grew darker. 

Nick heard the distant rumble of thunder, and gave up for the night. The return to the room at the Rex didn't help, though. Nate paced like he had a hole to wear into the floor, pushing his hair back and out of his eyes, scratching at his stubble, obsessively glancing out the window as though the night might yet yield answers. The window lit with crackling light, but there was no answering boom of thunder this time. 

The pip-boy clicked. Click-clicked. And then again. 

“Goddamnit!” Nate exploded. “God damn rads, god damn storms. Fucking shitty ass future with no... no...” He stood, his hands balled and shaking, his breathing rapid and shallow. 

“Nate?” said Nick. “Nate, doll, why don't ya sit down for a few minutes?” 

Nate kept talking as though he hadn't heard, pushing his hand over his forehead. His skin was damp, pale, and Ellie rose from her position on the corner of the bed, her face concerned. “Nate?” she said. “Breathing kinda hard, there, hon.”

Nate swallowed, and Nick could see his Adam's apple bob. “I can't-” he said. 

“Is it the storm?” she asked quietly. “Or is it something else?”

Nate let out a shuddering breath. “What isn't it? I've got Shaun to find and here I am stuck in Goodneighbor, stuck with nothing to do, no leads to follow for Nick, and... I'm just sick. I'm sick of it. I can't do this. It's too much.”

“Nobody said you had to wage a one man war on the commonwealth, doll,” said Nick, his tone mild. “We'll help you however we can. You know that.”

“No shit? I can just stop running down a thousand different paths at once trying to-” He took a deep breath, then his breathing became shallow again. “Nick. Nick, I'm sorry. I'm not trying to...” He pressed his palm to his chest, and shuddered. “I feel like I'm going to be sick.”

“Did you take anything?” asked Ellie cautiously. She didn't quite touch him, but reached out with her hand upturned. 

“Take? Like chems? No, Ellie. God,” he laughed then, a shaky, tremulous thing. “No, not on drugs. Why, did you think they'd help?”

“No,” said Nick firmly. “No chems.”

The pip-boy clicked again, a rapid-fire clatter of sound, and Nick glanced back and forth between the two of them. “Well. Rad-away,” he said. “No need for it myself, but...” He rifled through his pockets, and produced the packet. “Better to wait until the storm is over.”

“God, I hate using that stuff,” said Ellie. “Always makes me sick to my stomach. If the storm isn't too long, I may see if I can do a half-dose.” She let her hand fall as Nate turned away. “Come away from the window, Nate.”

“Why? Am I going to get double-irradiated?” he sniped. “Because I haven't noticed that being indoors does much against these damn things.”

“Nate,” said Nick. “That's enough.”

The too-wide blue eyes met his, and Nate broke eye contact first, shuddering. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm sorry. I don't know why...” Abruptly, he was violently ill, and Ellie was there in a heartbeat, pushing a bucket into his hands. She stayed with him, soothing his hair when he sat down to moan and shudder over the bucket as the nausea began to pass. 

“I'm sorry,” said Nate again. Nick pressed a bottle of water into his hands. Nate rinsed his mouth and spit, then did it again. 

“Small sips,” said Ellie. “Just a little at a time. C'mon, sweetie. You get a little on your stomach, then come lay down.”  
They waited while Nate took small sips of water, and Ellie produced some dried fruit from her things, and gave it to Nate. “Let's get a little sugar in you, hon.” Nate ate it slowly, between sips of water, tiny bites. 

Nick watched the process, watched as Nate's breathing started to slow from short gulps of air to slow, deep breaths, watched Ellie touch Nate ever so carefully. He took the bucket and disposed of it, and when he came back, the pip-boy had quieted, and they were both sitting on the floor, holding hands. 

He saw it, then. Something fiercely protective in her, a furious need to help. Nate rampaged through the wastelands, Nick assisted. Nick solved cases, and Ellie assisted. But her passion was deeply personal, Nick thought, in a way Nate's and his own was not. He cared about justice, Nate about society, rebuilding. And Ellie cared person by person, case by case. 

He wondered when she had fallen for him. Wondered how long that fierce protectiveness had been directed at him. When she picked up the rock? When Red pulled a gun on her? When Skinny Malone imprisoned him? Or something even before that?

There was no mystery in when she fell for Nate. It was in her hands, now, in the way she soothed his hair back from his forehead, in the way she wet the hem of her skirt, and wiped at his wrists to cool them. It was on her lips as she murmured soft words to him. It was in her eyes. _I will keep you safe_ was in the very set of her shoulders, the lines of her posture. She brushed a kiss over Nate's forehead, and Nick knew she was done for. 

She laid down on the bed, and Nate got in next to her, still shivery despite the still-warm night air. Nick sat on the end of the bed, his hand on Nate's leg, his thumb rubbing small circles. 

“Okay, Nate?” said Ellie carefully. “I don't want to scare you, but I'm worried you might have some radiation poisoning.”

“Nah,” said Nick. He patted Nate's leg. “You ever had a panic attack before, doll?”

“No,” said Nate. His skin was still pale and wan. Nick nodded. 

“Feeling like you're choking, chest pain, nausea, panic, all that irritability earlier.... The real Nick had a few. After... Well, it doesn't matter what. But it isn't your fault. God knows you've got plenty of reasons to panic.” He reached over and pulled Nate's boots off, one, then the other. 

“Here's the thing,” said Nick. “You can't live your life around never letting yourself be idle for a single second. It's no damn way to live. There can be—there _should_ be a few moments to relax here and there. It's not betraying your kid. Or your wife. Or even yourself. Trust me. I've been there: relentlessly pursuing work because even a few seconds spent without a crisis screaming for my attention gave me time to think. Time to grieve. Time to reflect on everything I could be doing but wasn't. It felt like forging a better world one case at a time would be like building a monument to her. To Jenny.”

“Maybe,” said Nick, “you're worrying if you'll ever find Shaun. If he'll know you; what kind of person he is? Whether this world has anything to offer your kid. But you'll never be any use to him if you run yourself ragged with worry, if you let yourself sink the way I did once.”

“But maybe you can't help it. Hell, I couldn't. And if you can't, well, we'll be here to hold your hand or to talk, or whatever else you need.”

“Nick?” asked Nate. 

“Yeah, doll?”

“If you want to cuddle, you only have to say so. No need to make a federal case out of it.”

Nick huffed a small laugh. “I won't call the feds if you won't, kid.”

“Kid?” said Nate. “I'm more than two hundred years old.”

“Same here. Depending on how you want to add those years up.” He tapped Nate's ankle. “You look, what? Twenty-eight?”

“Thirty,” said Nate. 

“Yeah,” said Nick. “I'm older than you no matter what way you cut it.”

“Psh,” said Nate. But the small smile faded quickly. “How do you stand it?”

“I work hard. I help people. I made good friends. Pretty much the same way you're doing.” He laid down next to him, curling an arm around Nate's middle, propping his head on his other arm. “You're doing the right things, sweetheart. But don't be so hard on yourself.”

Nick pressed a kiss to Nate's temple, and Ellie watched the movement with bright eyes. 

“Nate? It isn't all bad, is it?” asked Ellie, her tone unusually tentative. 

“No,” said Nate, settling his head on her shoulder. “It isn't all bad at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact about panic attacks! If someone passes out while having one, wait. Do not start CPR. Their body is basically doing a hard reset. SOURCE: my doctor.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a couple of days off, and I should be getting back into a every day or every other day posting schedule. Yep!

Nick woke before Nate and Ellie, and watched the light from the window change from pre-dawn grey to clear morning sunlight across their faces. He wanted to touch them. Wanted to whisper to them that he wasn't the right man for them. Wanted to congratulate them on finding each other and then slowly fade from their lives. He wasn't blind. He knew where this was headed, and he knew just as well that his while his heart was more than up to the job of loving again, that there was something in him that was broken. 

He wasn't even sure what to call the broken thing. It wasn't quite hope, or optimism, and it certainly wasn't love. It might have been _belief_. Believing that this was happening, that not one, but two people so right and so good wanted him in their lives... wanted tired, cynical, worn-out, broken-down Nick Valentine. Wanted a synth? Sure, hard enough to believe. But their wanting _him_ was even stranger, he decided. 

What in hell did that mean?

He knew better than to try to convince them not to, though. If he shut them down entirely, they might accept it, but he would have to do so without reasons, without excuses, or else they would pick apart his flimsy arguments like vultures over a carcass. 

Was it selfish to let them go, or selfish to keep them? He couldn't even tell any more. He suspected there wasn't a right choice, but what did he know? He was the one thinking about squashing the first blossoms of love before they had a chance to bloom at the same time that his hand made slow and lazy circles on Nate's side. 

He wanted to wake him with a kiss. Wake her with a hand on her waist. Wanted to examine whatever new and fragile thing this was until it fell apart, wanted to prod it until it broke. 

And in the end what decided him, for the moment at least, was that running felt less terrifying than staying. 

His hand slid up Nate's side, and under it he stretched, arching back and into Nick's hand, settling himself closer to the curve of the detective's body. Nate made a little hum of happiness. “Better this morning, doll?” asked Nick. 

“Much better, if the last twenty seconds are anything to go by,” said Nate, rolling his shoulders to loosen them. 

“Boss?” said Ellie, and when she sat up, her hair stood out in a hundred directions, the damp air having curled it into little ringlets. Nick felt a smile grow on his face. 

“Mornin', curly,” he said. “I see you got plenty of beauty rest.”

She broke into an enormous smile. “Nick, you charmer.” A pillow line marked the side of her face, and her nose was red. She was beautiful. 

Ellie touched her hair, and pulled a face. “Gonna take forever to grow out. I hope you do like curls.”

“Every time I see 'em, I think about how brave you are,” he said. “They're beautiful, and if you don't mind me saying so, a little terrifying.”

Her smile, if anything, broadened. “You say the sweetest things to a girl,” she cooed. “I've always wanted to be terrifying.” She stretched, balling her fists in the air above her head. “New day, new leads to run down. I'm thinking we'll knock this thing out by lunchtime, right?”

“Well,” said Nick. “We're jinxed. I hope you're happy with yourself, because one of us is going to get trampled by a runaway brahmin or something equally embarrassing.”

“Whatever,” said Nate. “This is Goodneighbor. A brahmin wouldn't make it ten steps away from its owner without getting made into an assortment of steaks and sold for drug money. You're perfectly safe from runaway brahmin. Now, smooth-talking mayors are another story.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I'm going to be so cross if I have to rescue you from the mayor's bed.”

Nate sputtered, and Nick grinned. “Wouldn't be the first wayward boyfriend or girlfriend I've tracked down to Hancock.”

She slithered off the foot of the bed without rousting the two men. “Is that what we are, then?” she asked, tugging the hem of her dress into place. “Because if so, I'll have to do something with this hair.”

“Don't you dare,” said Nate lazily. “I like it sproingy. Buuuut,” he said as her eyes narrowed. “What I like best is that it's yours to do with as you please. Obviously.”

“Good boy,” she said, and did a little shimmy as she wiggled into her overshirt.

 

* * * 

 

The morning after the rain was muggy, the air heavy and damp. Ellie and Nate shared some fruit for breakfast as they walked toward the first of their leads. 

“I don't know nothin',” said the drifter-woman, Mel. She was sober, more or less, but her eyes had the glassy quality Nick associated with long-term Med-x use, and her skin the sallow, pale, huge-pored look of the career alcoholic. Ellie's lips had pressed into a sad little line when she saw her, and Nate had become quiet. Nick wondered if the woman knew she was dying, or cared. 

“That's perfectly alright, ma'am. See, I've got this little line of credit open with Daisy, and I know plenty of other folks that might know something. Thank you for your time,” he said, turning to leave. 

“Hang on,” said Mel. “You ain't talking about Dweebo, are you?”

“'Dweebo?'” repeated Nick. “Describe him for me.”

“I dunno. Short. Can't dress himself. Kind of a round head. Wears glasses, but keeps breaking 'em. Grows a shitty moustache sometimes. Not a bit of sense in his stupid head, but he's good at machines. Hair's kinda a nothin' shade of brown.”

“Sounds likely,” said Nick. “What can you tell me about... Dweebo?”

“He's... kind of a dweeb. Sorta bad at people. Hates dogs. Stops through Goodneighbor a few times a month. I think he gets supplies: Ammo, food, odds and ends. Always seems to have a little money to spend extra. Buys some tech. And then he won't shut up about it. He'll corner anyone who stands still for long enough, talk their fucking ear off about some shit nobody cares about. Plenty of people avoid him since he's a pest.”

“You know where he stays?” he said, lighting a cigarette. He offered her one, and she took it with a little smile that didn't quite mesh with the rest of her face. 

“Got a bolt-hole a out in the burbs. Daisy might know more.” She took a drag on the cigarette, and flipped stringy hair off her face. “I think west.”

“Miss, you've been real helpful. I'll tell Daisy so.”

“Yeah?” she said. “Hot damn.”

“Food only on my tab, though. I guess you can trade it for booze if you have to. But I've done what I can, you know?”

She watched him for a moment, glassy eyes briefly sharp. “I'll try and eat something, but I don't keep stuff down so good sometimes.”

“Try for me, sweetheart.” He reached out to shake, and she looked at his bare metal hand with some curiosity, then took it. 

“You're a good man, Mr. Valentine,” she said. “I'll try.”

As they walked away, Ellie's hand found his, and gave it a squeeze. “She's right,” she said. “You are a good man.”

“Hm,” he said, a noncommital noise. In policeman, it translated to something like, _I have heard the words you said, and make no value judgement._

“Better than most anybody else I know,” said Nate, and slipped his arm around Nick's waist for a brief moment.

“Hm,” he repeated. “Look, the love fest is all very charming, but we've gotta talk to Daisy.”

“Because the two hundred year old ghoul won't be there in five minutes,” said Nate. 

“Oh my god,” said Ellie. “He really can't take a compliment.”

“But he's so funny!”

“And charming.”

“Witty.”

“Brave.”

“Kind.”

“Clever.”

“Well dressed considering the circumstances and the overall sartorial decline of the modern world.”

“He's _thematically_ dressed, that's what he is.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Nick. “You're both very cute. Can we go?”

“Handsome, too,” said Ellie, with a twinkling smile.

“Alright,” he said. “Now you're just having a laugh.” He tugged his coat straight, and started walking again.

“'Having a laugh?” said Nate behind him. “But-”

Ellie jogged a few steps to get in front of him. “Hey,” she said. “No. We're talking. Hang on.” She put a hand on his chest to stop him. “One,” she said, holding up a finger. “Don't tell me what I do and don't think is beautiful. Two. Kindness is beautiful. As are many of the other traits we just named. Three. The heart wants what it wants. Four. Nick, you have lovely eyes. And a great nose. A fantastic profile. And you think because you're, what, a bit rough around the edges, that just because of that, nobody could think you're handsome. Five,” she said, and held up her thumb, ticking off the last digit. 

But it was then that Nate kissed him. Nate's teeth found his lip ever so slightly; Nate pressed his body to his, and, okay, maybe describing a kiss as _electric_ was corny for a synth, but Nick's eyes drifted closed, his hands found Nate's waist and closed around it, pulling him closer, pulling him against his own body, savoring the warmth and the strong arms, and the taste of him, ever so slightly sweet. Nate started to pull back, and Nick followed, kissing him again on the corner of the mouth, on the jaw, on the neck, and with a shiver, he let him go and took a half-step back. 

“Whoa,” said Ellie.

“You're telling me,” said Nick.

“Five,” said Nate with the smug self-satisfaction of someone who knew he had scored a point. 

“Five,” repeated Nick. “Okay. Some of those points were, ah, well made.”

“You could just admit you were wrong.”

“I'm not wrong. You've had your brain scrambled by rads, and it's given you a strange view of reality.” 

“My brain? Says the experimental brain scan guy.”

Ellie was still for a moment, and her mouth hung upon a little. “Wow. Uhm, Nate...?”

“Big talk,” said Nick, “From a popsicle.”

“Laugh it up, gumshoe,” said Nate, all haughty indignity. “Just wait and see what I make you carry next time we go out in the wastes.”

“Utter crap,” said Nick without hesitation. “Same as always.”

“I take it all back,” said Ellie. “Let's go talk to Daisy before one of you is so sharp you cut yourself.”

“That'd be Nate,” said Nick. “Probably got a pocket full of tin cants and loose nails.”

“Loose screws,” corrected Nate.

“That's what I was saying. You got a loose screw, kid.”

“Says the guy who I've literally seen tightening his own screws.”

“That just means I know a loose screw when I see one,” said Nick. 

“...Touché.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's commented! I've been working like crazy on this fic, so I've been remiss in responding. But I read every comment and <3 all of them. You guys have kept me going when I realized this fic was getting way out of control and taking over my life.

One break, one solid lead, didn't always mean a case broke wide open. Sometimes it didn't mean diddly, and the lead would fizzle like a dud firework. But this lead let them chip away at the case. The first few places they asked were strikeouts, yeilding every answer from “who?” to “don't know nothin'” to “ain't no snitch.” But with a name to work with, Daisy recalled who they were talking about. She knew the trader, Ben the Skink, too, though she said it wasn't unusual for him to go missing for weeks or months at a time as he scavenged ruins.

“Ben?” she rasped. “He's harmless. A little simple, and some people might take advantage of that. Got a real knack for finding useful junk, things people can really use. Rare stuff sometimes, too. I wouldn't think he'd care one way or another about synths. Took him weeks to realize I was a ghoul. Must be my stunning good manners threw him off.”

“Must be,” he said. “What about this Dweebo?”

“Stupid name. Don't know what his real one might be. He comes in every so often for supplies. A little food, tech bits and bobs. He's a skinny one. I think he'd rather buy some old tech bit than keep himself well fed and clothed. Thinks he's smart, thinks he's dangerous. Struts sometimes, slinks mostly. He wants people to think he's important.”

“You know where he beds down?” 

“More or less. He'll talk your ear off, and that's a danger I take personally. I can more or less tell you where he stays just from all the random yammering he's done about how safe and secret his 'lair' is.”

“'Lair?' He said that?”

“Nick, if you and Nate put a bullet in him, you'll be doing every last soul who might ever have to talk to him a big favor.” Daisy pulled out a little hand-sketched map of the area around Goodneighbor, and tapped a place near the edge. “Right around here, I would think. But could be as far as here,” she said, and tapped a place a block over. “There's a collapse in the street here. Super mutants have a base over here. Me? I'd wait for him to hit Goodneighbor, and knife him in an alley.”

“I'll keep it in mind. Now, about that little tab I wanted to set up?”

She wrote up a ticket in a little book, and took a small pile of caps from Nick, eyeballed them expertly, and pushed some back. “Just because the food I have isn't that hot. Unless of course you mean rads. Then it's plenty hot. I'm not normally in for charity,” she said.

“I wouldn't think it of you, doll.”

“Just so long as we're clear, Valentine. I don't want to be getting a reputation for feeding the homeless, hopeless, or any other -lesses. Bad for business.”

“I'll keep your reputation clear,” he said. He pushed a few more caps toward her. “Cigarettes?”

“Don't have much. Hard item to keep in stock.” But she counted out his caps this time, and handed him three loose cigarettes, which he tucked into the battered pack in his breast pocket. 

“Want me to tell Ben you're looking for him?”

“Nah. But if you see him, let me know.” He touched the brim of his hat in a salute, and she smiled.

“Out of here, you old charmer,” she commanded. “And Nick? Be careful. Dweebo isn't bright, but he does carry a heck of a laser rifle.”

“Noted and appreciated. You keep safe, Daisy.”

Outside, he took a moment to light a cigarette and mull over what he'd learned. Even a few blocks of travel around Goodneighbor were dangerous. If Gomer—he could hardly bring himself to think a name as stupid as Dweebo—made it through there on a regular basis, he must be a little handy at least with that laser rifle Daisy had warned him of. Either that, or he had a hell of a good route. 

He cut across the little courtyard interior of Goodneighbor's modest shopping district toward the alley where he had parted ways with Nate and Ellie. He paused outside the alley to finish his cigarette, partly to keep out of the little wind that had kicked up, and partly because he liked to see the smoke drift through the bars of sunlight that filtered down there. 

“...really thinks that,” he heard. “It's not that he doesn't connect emotionally, it's that he thinks he _shouldn't_. It's one of those weird things...he doesn't doubt his skills, or that what he does could be valuable, but somehow there's no connection in his head between what he does and who he is and someone else thinking he's worth their--”

“Ahem,” said Nick, and Ellie turned with a gasp. 

“Oh my god,” she breathed. “You ass! Don't you know it's not polite to listen to people gossip about you.”

“Must've missed that day in finishing school,” he said, and gave her a little peck on the temple. “You, Nate?”

“I don't eavesdrop,” said Nate. “I typically just happen to be reloading while people chit-chat.” He hesitated. “Nick--”

“It's all right,” said Nick. “I'd sort of assumed you two were sharing notes and had a bit of a conspiracy going.” He took a last drag on his cigarette and ground it out under the toe of his shoe. “Learn anything interesting?” he asked blandly. 

“Ellie thinks you don't understand why we want you.”

_Why we want you_. The words of the sentence itself hardly made sense, and he shook his head. “You two could have each other. Or anyone, really. Doesn't make sense that either of you would have any interest in a beat-up old thing like me.”

“Did we not enumerate a small sampling of your charms?” asked Nate. “I think it might've been just a few minutes ago, actually.” He studied Nick for a moment, his pale blue eyes scruitnizing him carefully. “Just because you don't understand it, doesn't mean it isn't true,” he said gently. “Plenty of people don't understand why they're adored. But if we whittled it down to just one thing, I'd say I want you because it feels right.”

“And I'd say I want you because you're... just so fundamentally _good_. And because you smell like oil and cigarettes in a way that makes me go all tender-hearted,” said Ellie. 

“Oh, two reasons. There you go one-upping,” said Nate. 

“I'll show you one-upping,” said Ellie. 

Ellie kissed him, stretched up on the tip-toes of her high-tops, and her body met his before her lips did. She rolled against him as she stretched, a slinky motion, and his arms found her hips to steady her. And where Nate had been strength and tension and the smell of sweat and leather, Ellie was all yielding curves and softness. His good hand came up, thumb stroking the apple of her cheek as he pressed her back, back until her bottom hit the wall, and then she came apart in his hands, body wracked with trembling. He kissed her neck, found that sweet little spot at the crook, his teeth gliding over it, his tongue dipping down into the hollows of her collarbone. Then he pressed further, and her back was molded to the wall, and his mouth was hungry against hers. She was water in the wastes, warm sun in winter, she was a thousand things he didn't know he still wanted. 

She panted when he broke away, put her palms to the wall to steady herself. Her lips were flushed berry-bright and her cheeks nearly matched. She patted the wall once or twice as if trying to find her footing, and pushed away from it. Her fingers found his tie, threading themselves through it, and a small smile curved her mouth. This time she pulled him down to meet her, this time she took charge. He still wanted to press her against that wall, wanted to slip his knee between her legs, but he let her direct and was pleasantly distracted enough to be surprised when Nate kissed him on the nape of the neck, pushing the collar of his coat aside to reveal on of the last places where skin remained in that area. Nate, ever so slightly taller, curved along him, his body conforming to his. His arms encircled Nick, and there was warm breath on his ear as Nate's teeth skimmed against his earlobe. 

“Geeze, get a room or three,” came a voice, and a ghoul brushed past them, bumping Nate's shoulder as he went by. 

“Well!” said Ellie, wiggling away. “Aren't we an indiscreet cou—threesome?” Then repeated the last word under her breath as though not sure how her life had taken this turn. 

“Second thoughts?” asked Nick softly. 

“Pff. No. Just one of those moments where your life doesn't quite seem real. If you'd told me two weeks ago that I'd be here now, I woulda said you were crazy. I couldn't even really imagine a situation with one good man, let alone... Hmph.”

“You've dated before,” Nick said. 

“I said _good_ man, boss. None of them really measured up.”

“Measured up to what?” asked Nate. 

“To--” And she stopped so suddenly that Nate nearly ran into her, an expression of horror spreading across her face. “To...”

“You allright, sweetheart?” asked Nick. 

“I'm usually, uh... a lot more... a lot more self-aware. But I've been...”

“Using Nick as a yardstick?” suggested Nate.

“That sounds terrible when you say it like that.” Her face crinkled in wry amusement. “I've been imposing a lot of _standards_ that most people couldn't live up to.” She slipped a hand into Nick's. “Most people.” Her other hand found Nate's, and squeezed. “Well, that was the second embarrassing thing in the last few minutes. Can we all pretend all of that happened in my head instead of out loud?”

“Darling,” said Nick. “If I knew what had just happened and why, I'd be glad to pretend anything you asked me to.”

“Well... uhm, unlike Nate, who's had a crush since he met you, more or less-”

“Oh my god,” said Nate. “Please, do go on.”

“I wasn't carrying a torch all these years. But... when the men I dated did something... small, or petty, or dishonest, all I could think was how Nick wouldn't do this, Nick would have enough class not to do that, Nick would've helped those people, or Nick would be sad just listening to this jerk.” She took a deep breath, and looked up. Her brown eyes were wide, and a little frightened. “And then I got kidnapped. And I never doubted for one second that you'd come for me. And you could've been killed. Almost were. That's when I knew that I was an idiot. And that I'm your idiot, whether you want me or not. I was in a panic, thinking I'd only just realized what I wanted most right as I might lose you. But I'm not a fool. And I could see the same kind of fear in Nate. We talked about it, while we carried you back to Sanctuary. And we agreed that we liked each other a lot, and we weren't going to try to sabotage the other. And we'd see where things went.”

He could hardly find words. “Didn't plan this, then?”

“No. I just hoped. Because I wanted to see us both happy, but more than anything else, I wanted to see you happy. And if you'd been happy with Nate and only Nate, I could've lived with that. Because I'm sort of desperate to see you happy.” She smiled crookedly. “Is that sad?”

“Sad?” he said, surprised. “Sweetheart, you've scared me, delighted me, bewildered me, impressed me, and so much more, but you've never once made me sad. That's a thing I do all on my own.”

“Not anymore,” said Nate, and squeezed his hand. 

“Apparently not. Apparently not.” 

“Geeze, are you three still here? I thought I said to get a room,” said the ghoul, shouldering back through the alley, muttering as he went. 

 

* * *

 

“I still don't like it,” said Ellie. She stood and paced across the hotel room, pausing near the window to glance down at the street. 

“You aren't going with us to root out Gomer,” said Nate. “If we'd started training you with that gun six months ago, maybe...”

“Frankly, doll, I wouldn't drag Nate into this mess if I wasn't so certain he'd come even if I told him no.”

“I'd turn up if you handcuffed me to the desk at the agency.”

“There's a pretty picture,” said Ellie, making Nate— _Nate!_ \--blush. 

Nick rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I really would prefer to handle this alone.”

“Like hell,” said Nate. 

“I still think I should--”

“No,” said Nate. “You can stay here and--”

“At least you've given up trying to drag me back to the agency,” said Ellie.

“Only because you threatened to make us carry you,” said Nate. 

“Nick!” said Ellie. “I don't want to be a burden, but I can't see staying alone anywhere until-”

“ _No_ ,” growled Nick, and the other two paused their bickering, taken aback. “That decides it. You two stay here, and I'll take care of Gomer.”

“Nick, we can't just--”

“Nick, why wouldn't you want--”

“Why are you so averse to help?”

“Why shouldn't we--”

“Because if I have to watch another person I love bleed out on the streets of Boston, I won't be able to go on,” he said. 

Silence. He could hear the gentle hum of his own body, the soft whirrs and occasional clicks. Could hear their hearts race, hear Ellie swallow, hear the rustle of her dress as she sat, groping behind her for the location of the chair. 

Nate broke first. “Okay,” he said quietly. “If you really don't want me to go, I won't.”

“I want you to keep Ellie safe,” said Nick. “More than anything else, I want you two to be here and safe while I deal with this. Cuddle up. Read a book. Anything. Later, we re-negotiate. Teach Ellie to use that gun. Teach me to have a little faith in the universe not to kick me when I'm happy. But for now, I'm asking you both: give an old synth a little peace of mind.”

“I hate this,” said Ellie bitterly. 

“I know,” said Nick, and ran his fingertips through her hair. “I hate it, too. I don't want to peel myself apart from the two of you for even an instant. It's all too new, too fresh.” He kissed her forehead, and then Nate's jaw. “Keep each other safe.”

And with that, he turned and left.

He kept walking until he reached the gate back into the Commonwealth. Lit his next-to-last cigarette with a flare of light from the lighter, beating back the darkness for just an instant. It made a good metaphor. He smoked the entire thing before stepping outside, not wanting the lit cherry of the cigarette to give him away in the darkness. 

It took him two blocks to get into trouble, a lone raider with a look of absurd surprise on his face when he rounded the corner into Nick. The raider grabbed for his gun, but Nick threw an elbow at the kid's face, swept his legs out from under him, and had his gun out and trained between his eyes before he could recover. 

“What... What are you?” stammered the kid. He couldn't have been more than fourteen, and Nick looked him up and down with a critical eye. He couldn't have grown a beard if he wanted to. Hell, his armor was too big in places. 

“I'm a synth,” growled Nick. “And you're going to answer a couple of questions if you want to live.”

He kept the gun carefully trained as he searched the kid, throwing away a rickety pipe pistol and a pair of brass knuckles. “You get these back at the end of the school year,” he said. It didn't net a laugh, but he hadn't really expected it to.

He gave the kid a little pat on the cheek, two soft, and the third not so soft, but not quite a blow. “Now,” said Nick. “I need to know what's dangerous between here and three blocks that way.” 

A little prodding, and he had everything he needed. No, the kid didn't know Dweebo. Yes, there were Raiders. Yes, you could circle around them to the north. A few ghouls. He didn't know what there was as you came back south. 

“Thanks for your cooperation,” said Nick. He hefted the kid to his feet, and brushed him off. “You ever think about going straight?”

“Fuck you,” said the kid, and ran. 

Well, nobody could say he didn't try. 

The trip around the raiders was mostly uneventful. The usual sounds of distant gunfire and shouting kept him from wondering if things were too quiet. Once or twice he spotted barrel fires down the street, and kept to the shadows. There was a brief scuffle with three ghouls, and other than a little incidental trench coat damage, they went down easy. 

Dweebo's bolt hole was the basement of a half-collapsed building, its signs too faded to read, but Nick remembered it being a women's clothing store. There was one way in that he could see, and a slow examination of the perimeter didn't yield any exits or hidden tunnels. Well, everyone did say the guy wasn't bright. 

He had the eerie feeling that his luck was holding. He distrusted the feeling as soon as he had it. 

The abrupt whizz-hum of a laser rifle charging just behind him proved him right.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shortish chapter, but one that took me a longish time to write.

Nick Valentine had been lucky. Lucky to have a second shot at life, lucky professionally more times than he could count, lucky to know what it felt like to be loved once then, and now again. He had known more kindness, more sorrow, more despair and more love than any one person ever had a right to expect. You had to have something truly great to know the depths of despair he had felt in his loss. And in the moment that the laser rifle whined its way through its start-up, Nick was struck by a terrible and certain calm. 

“Gonna shoot me, doll? I'd prefer that you didn't, of course, but I can't really stop you, can I?” he asked. “But, ah, is this Dweebo?”

As an answer, the gun jabbed into his back, and the peculiar voice he specifically associated with insecure men trying to seem frightening said, “What's it to ya?”

“I came for the tape, kid,” he said in the most soothing tone he could muster. “I'm willing to trade for it.”

Something rattled. The gun shaking? Nick couldn't be sure, but the kid seemed nervous.

“Trade?” The voice broke. “I'm holding all the cards, here, s-synth.”

“I realize that. The name's Valentine, but you already know that.” He held up his hands, slowly. “Mind if I turn around? If we're going to do this, it should be face-to-face.”

“Do what,” said Dweebo suspiciously.

“Talk. Negotiate. Hell, if you kill me, you should do it looking me in the eye. It's the sign of a real man. Or so I'm told.”

“Oh. O...okay. But turn around slow.”

Nick turned, keeping his hands up and visible. The kid-and no matter how old he was, Nick couldn't think of Dweebo (formerly Gomer)-as anything but a kid. The round face, the slightly open mouth, the utterly guileless expression, all of it was childish to him. “Hey,” he said. He made it as pleasant, as disarming as possible. “Nice to finally meet you. You did a good job hiding; I had a heckuva time finding you.”

The kid, still suspicious, tried not to look pleased. “Well, you know. I'm, like, a-a-”

“Like a deathclaw with a stealth boy?” suggested Nick, and was immediately worried he'd overdone it.

“Yeah!” said Dweebo. “Have you ever seen one?”

“Ever seen one? Yeah. How I lost all the skin off my hand, actually.”

“No shit?” said the kid. 

“No shit,” said Nick, full of shit. “You smoke?”

“Naw.”

“Mind if I do?”

“Naw. But you smoke? How come?” 

“Same reason as anyone else,” said Nick “Cause I like it. Nervous habit. Keeps me calm.”

“But you're a synth,” said Dweebo.

“Sure. Big old computers for brains, you'd think I'd know better. You aren't the first to suggest it doesn't make a bit of sense.”

“Can't be good for the electronics.”

“That's for damn sure,” said Nick. “Could really gum up the works. I've been thinking about quitting, ya know?”

“Huh.”

“But I've got one left. I'm gonna take it out nice and slow, okay?”

The boy re-settled the gun. But it had drifted down to chest-level from is shoulder. “Careful,” he warned. 

“Sure,” said Nick. He brought one hand down slow and fished around in the breast pocket of his coat. He pulled out his ancient silver lighter next, and went through the old, familiar movements in slow motion. And when it was lit and he took a first drag, he let out a small sigh of contentment, and saw Dweebo's brows twitch in confusion. 

“You look perplexed,” said Nick. “Something you wanna ask?”

“No,” said the kid. “But-”

“Yeah?” said Nick. He kept his expression pleasant, open. 

“You—don't seem like what I expected. I thought people were all afraid of you and I was kinda helping... helping rescue them. But then I try to sell the tape, then try and just give it away, and people keep throwing me out. Literally in the case of that bartender in Diamond city. People like you.”

“Nah,” said Nick. “I'm obviously not _that_ well liked, or else I wouldn't be in this situation to begin with. Myrna--”

“Figured that out?” said Dweebo. “Not that she's, like, super subtle or anything.”

“She killed Abbot,” said Nick. “Poor bastard.”

“Don't know him,” said Dweebo. “Friend of yours?”

“Turns out he was,” said Nick. “Even though I didn't really know it.”

“Huh.” The kid dropped a hand off his gun and scratched his head. “I don't think I've even got anything like that.”

“Never too late to change. Nah, don't give me that look. I mean it. You're out here going it alone, and when you go to town you're telling people about how great you are. You gotta listen to other people, kid. Listen and be helpful.” He finished his cigarette—and it had only been a half one anyway--and dropped it, grinding it out with his shoe. 

“Easy for you to say. I guess you're, I dunno, programmed to be good at dealing with people. If I'm programmed to do anything, it's be a pest,” he said. 

The gun was loosely held in Dweebo's hand, hitched against his hip. Where were his odds? Did he continue to talk the kid down, or did he snatch the gun? One was the smart thing to do, and one was the right thing to do. 

If he had a personal motto, or maybe a fancy coat of arms, it would have read _Old habits die hard._ It could say that under a picture of a fedora or something. He'd have to remember that if he ever got business cards. If he lived. 

“Well,” he said. “Thanks for the time to smoke. Talking to you has been a real unexpected pleasure.” He offered his hand, and the kid stared at it suspiciously. 

“How do I know you're not going to do that thing where you yank someone forward and hit them with your head?” he asked. 

“Well, you don't. Just like I don't know you wouldn't do the same. For all I know you're the kind of guy who could have a nice long chat with someone and then kill them, no problem. Me? Even if you fire on me, and I fire back, I'm going to feel downright lousy about it for a long time. I just don't do murder.” 

He'd run once when he had to fight. He might back down again. If Nick had been human, he might've held his breath, tensed his jaw, clenched his hand. As it was, he just did his best to look innocuous, and kept the hand out. 

A muscle jumped in the kid's jaw. “You're _laughing_ at me. You think I won't shoot. You're... you're manipulating me!”

“I don't wanna be shot, that's true. I wouldn't say manipulating so much as trying to talk to you, one man to another and--”

“You think I'm not a real man! _You!_ You just want me to hand over the tape and then we walk away, and then you go back to Goodneighbor and everyone has a good laugh at Dweebo. Well, I don't want to be laughed at anymore.” 

The gun came up, and Nick did his best to stay calm, turning the outstretched hand into a cautioning one. “Whoaa, there. If I went back to Goodneighbor, I'd tell them you made the good decision, the smart decision. I don't bad-mouth, and I keep my word. I--”

And with a high-pitched whine, the world exploded into bright blue-white light. 

It would have to be an Institute rifle, wouldn't it? Probably one of the very ones Nate had sold and put into circulation. He'd been seeing more of them lately. He'd have to warn Nate, if he made it back out alive. The damn things hurt like holy hell. 

All of which were strange thoughts to have as he fell to the ground and rolled. His own gun came up, clearing the holster in an instant, and before he stood, he popped off two shots. The first struck the boy in the shoulder. The second in the chest. 

The laser rifle clattered to the ground, and the kid fell to his knees, wide-eyed. “I didn't mean... didn't want to... goddamn. Goddamn Synth... shot me. Had to show him I... meant... I'm a man, god... damnit...”

All the tension went out of his muscles, and Nick scrambled forward, checking to see if the kid was still breathing. He wasn't. 

The tape was in his pocket, marked N. V. 1/1, along with a half-dozen bits of tech Nick only vaguely recognized as being Synth parts. Gen one, so he wasn't as familiar with them. He left all of that, mentally daring Nate to just try and make him schlepp junk all the way back to Goodneighbor. 

He stood, feeling the weight of his years. His hip was burned from the laser, and miracle of miracles, the trench was more or less intact minus a small hole. He looked down at the boy, tried to guess his age, but as so often was the case, the wastelands had probably aged him prematurely. Sixteen? Twenty five? He'd had a baby face, so who knew. Too young. He knew that much for sure. 

He dithered for a moment over trying to bury the kid, but nearby gunfire cut that line of thinking short. Instead, he did a quick sweep of the kid's bolt-hole for any other tapes, found none, and got the hell out. He never had quite gotten used to rummaging through dead men's stuff, even if Nate had taken to it three, four minutes out of the vault. 

He kept to his route back, retracing his steps and keeping a careful watch. Dying now would be a hell of a way to go. Nate would fix him just to kill him again. His hip was a sea of pain, awash with crackling pain.

But all the way home, Nick Valentine kept his word, just like he said he would. 

He felt lousy.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay; I've got some upcoming craft fairs this spring and I'm back to spending a lot of nights in my studio after taking a Christmas break that turned into like a month off.

Feeling lousy in a bar was better than feeling lousy outside a bar, and that was the very best that could be said for Nick Valentine's state of mind. He'd limped directly to the Third Rail, glad for the seediness of the place, glad he wasn't home for friendly Vadim to try and jolly him into anything less than the full-fledged funk he was engaging in. Whitechapel Charlie had served him without asking what he wanted, but put a whiskey down in front of him. He would've preferred bourbon. It had been his solace of choice once upon a time. But whiskey would do. 

He didn't eat, that was true enough, but he could sure as hell drink, and inside him some efficient kajigger would separate the stuff into useful and non-useful compounds. He had to drink water, here and there. Drinking alcohol was his choice, though, not some requirement foisted on him by the Institute. 

If only he'd been able to get drunk, that would've really been something. But the closest he could manage was a buzz, and even that might've been phycosomatic. Did goddamn robots even have subconsciousnesses to trip them up? Or merely subroutines rarely engaged?

There was a trick to being left alone in a bar. Look too pathetic, and some sap might try to comfort you. Look too approachabe, and you would be. You had to look fixedly, monotonously _absent_. A thousand-yard stare didn't hurt. The right set to the shoulders was needed, the right set to the jaw. Nick, fortunately, had a jaw made for stubbornness, for setting in a funk, for stoicism. 

So when someone tapped him on the shoulder, Nick would have been astonished, if it had been in his range of emotions at the moment. 

“This seat taken?” said Ellie, her voice low. 

“Nah,” said Nick. “Knock yourself out.”

“What's a handsome detective like you doing in a place like this?” she said, voice low. 

If he'd had a heart, she would've made it ache. “Drinking,” he said. “Quietly.”

She held up two fingers to Whitechapel Charlie, nodding to herself and Nick. “Drinking with company is better for the soul, I hear.”

“Hm,” he said, but didn't manage any other words. Or, to be truthful, any words to start with.

She picked up her drink when Charlie served it, and pushed his toward him. “Why don't you propose a toast?”

“Old fashioned,” he said. “How about-to old habits?”

Her smile faltered. “Nick,” she said, but he tapped his glass to hers, and put a finger to her lips. 

“May they die hard,” he instructed, and she parrotted him. But she didn't like it. 

“Nick,” she said. “Darlin'. Whatever happened--”

He knocked back the drink quickly, and would have been ashamed to admit that it was for the effect only, that it was to give her pause. 

But she didn't hesitate. If anything, it made her bolder. She took his hand between hers, and rubbed it as though he were cold. Who knew. Maybe he was. He'd never done quite so much drinking at once before. Could be screwing up a system. 

“Magnolia came and got us. Said she remembered you here listening before, but never drinking. Not like this. Said she was surprised to see you without Nate.”

“Surprised to see _you_ here without Nate,” he said, but didn't turn and look behind him to satisfy his curiousity. 

“He's near the stairs. I asked him to let me get a minute with you.”

“And how has that gone?” he drawled, tip-tapping his metal fingers on the rim of the glass, causing her to wince. 

“Pretty shitty, Nick.” Her voice had little flecks of ice in it now. “Because you're scaring the heck out of me, here.”

“I made him trust me. And I killed him. Is that what you want to know?” He slid his hand out from between hers so he could rummage in his pockets, and pulled out the holo. “Here's the prize. Here's what he died over.”

She took it from him, and made it disappear into her overshirt. “You know what? I think you're telling this all wrong, Nick. I think you feel like crap, so you're telling what happened in the way that most makes you look awful. Because none of that sounds like you. Tell me what happened. This time the way it actually happened.”

“He put a gun to my back,” he said. “So I talked to him. Complimented him on his ability to hide. Made friends with him, offered him a cigarette. Got him to ease up on that laser rifle a little. Offered to trade for the holo, and suddenly he bowed up. Acted like I was just going to come back and laugh at him, spread the story of how I'd tricked him. Manipulated him. Acted like he felt like less than a man if he let me go. So he fired. And I took him down.” He sighed, and didn't look up, choosing instead to draw little circles out from a puddle on the bar, little radiating spikes and whorls. 

She was silent for a long time. Too long. Ellie always had something to say, so finally, he was the one who broke, who looked up and caught her eye. “El?”

Her jaw went tight, and she spoke haltingly at first. “When they...when they kidnapped me, you know who I was most afraid of? Right up until the end, anyway? The kid. Dweebo. Because Red was angry and the big guy was placid, but they were both... manageable. Until you turned up, at least. But Dweebo was all over the place. First he wanted to convince me how manly he was. Boasted about all the women he'd bedded. It was pathetic. He knew it, Red and Burly knew it, and I knew it. And once that happened, he was so... erratic. He wanted me to like him, and he wanted me to fear him, and he wanted me to _want_ him. Tried to tell me that if I fucked him he'd let me go. Offered to record it, like that was a good thing somehow.”

“Jesus, Ellie.”

“And I told him to go to hell. That if he found his dick with a microscope, then we could talk. That I didn't fuck no-name two-bit hoods with delusions of self-importance. Told him I'd sooner blow a super mutant. So if he's dead because surrendering and parting peacefully was an insult to his manhood, where does the blame fall? With the guy who pulled the trigger while he was under fire, or the girl who looked at him, saw a soft spot in him, and dug a thumb in? Because I said... I said some shit to him, Nick. Because I was scared. I wanted him to be afraid of me, afraid of the mouth on me, so afraid that he wouldn't even speak to me again. And he didn't. He didn't. So if we're looking for blame, let's be honest: I killed something in him that made him _less_. He slunk away from me like a whipped dog. And then you had to kill him because I was scared.” She huffed a little laugh. “So if you wanna lay some blame, Nick...”

“It's a strange thing,” he said. “Gunning down someone you've been trying to make friends with.” His hand found hers on the bar, and squeezed. “You did what you needed to do, El. Not your fault.”

“And if you couldn't talk him down, well, that's not your fault, hon.” 

“Hon?” he repeated, bemused. 

“You've already got the market on doll, sweetheart, darlin', and probably a lot of others that I'm forgetting.” She smiled crookedly, and her gaze flicked downward. “Because there are...situations...where you'd have to ask nice for me to call you Boss.”

He coughed. “Darlin'-- You can't be-”

“What can't she be?” asked Nate, sitting on his other side. “Because if you say serious, I'm going to have to break it to you: we are so serious.”

“And,” said Ellie brightly, “you made the mistake of leaving us alone to plot and plan. Rookie mistake, Valentine.”

“I see that, now,” Nick said. 

He slid his glass back across the bar, and shook his head when Whitechapel Charlie lifted a bottle toward him. Nate nodded, though, and when he had a drink in his hand, reached across Nate to toast Ellie. “To new ventures,” he said, and favored the two of them with a lascivious wink.

“To new friends and old,” returned Ellie, and drank. Nate signaled for another glass for her.

“To vague innuendo,” said Nick, and raised his empty glass. 

Ellie tittered. Her cheeks were unevenly pink from just the better part of a single drink, and Nate laughed. “Lightweight!” he crowed, and threw an arm around Nick's waist. “She can't drink worth a damn, and you don't eat. Cheap dates, both of you.”

“Who you calling cheap, bucko?” said Ellie, putting her fists on her waist. “I'll have you know this girl requires flowers.”

“Flowers,” said Nick musingly. “Got it. Flowers for the lady, some stuff I scavenged off a corpse for the gentleman.”

“You big ol' romantic, how'd you know?” said Nate. “Two rolls of duct tape and an old screwdriver and I'm over the moon.”

“Is that a euuuuuphamism?” said Ellie, starting a second drink, and Nate sputtered halfway through a sip.

“It was now,” said Nate. He waggled his eyebrows, and Ellie laughed until a little snort came out, then laughed some more. 

“Two drink max for Ellie,” said Nick, and signaled Charlie. “Don't think I've ever seen you drink much before, doll.”

“One glass on dates,” she said solemnly. “And if a guy tries to get me drunker, he's a louse.”

“What's that make me?” asked Nate. 

“A charming louse. But I'll take you. I'll take you both,” she said happily.

“Who wouldn't?” said Nate. “Look at us. Handsome guys, smart, and half of us know how to treat a lady.”

“Very classy,” she said.

“Half classy,” corrected Nick. 

“Okay. You're classy, but I'm a handy guy with a bag of junk.”

“Lucky for me, then,” said Nick. 

“Hey!” said Ellie. “We'll make the... the lewd jokes here. Misser.” 

“Anybody else think we should maybe get Ellie a little fresh air?” said Nate. “Walk her around a little?”

“You walk around a drunk, you get a tired drunk. Splash 'em with water, you got a wet drunk. Give 'em a coffee, you've got a wide-awake drunk,” said Nick. “Nothin' for it but time—are you mocking me, missy?”

“Me?” said Ellie, pressing her fingertips to her chest, the picture of innocence. “Nossir. I just happened to be shaking my finger and moving my mouth while you repeated some old, worn, police advice I've _certainly_ never heard before.” 

“Smart alec,” said Nick. “My smart mouthed-girl.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Nicky? Can we wait a little before we get me that fresh air?”

“Course we can, sweetheart,” he said, and tipped his head over against hers. “Course we can.”

Behind them, a passing ghoul snorted. “Thought I told you three to get a room.”

“Later,” said Nate. 

“Not too much later,” said Ellie.

“Ehhhh,” said the ghoul. “Geddouttahere.”

“Nope,” said Nick. “We're happy where we are, grumpy. Happy just where we are.” And to his surprise, he genuinely meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo. I'm thinking about adding a chapter that would most certainly change the rating. If you catch my drift. What do folks think? Yea or nay? And if you want the requisite smutty chapter, does anyone have any particular emotions on the state of Nick's, errr....? 
> 
> Because most authors seem to be of the opinion there ain't nothin' there, but he's not exactly a standard gen 2, is he...? *runs away to burst into embarrassment flames*


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M NOT DEAD. This may come as a surprise to Nicole in particular. So sorry for leaving people hanging for so long. I am a lout, a heel, and I offer my most sincere apologies. 
> 
> But. I quit my dreadful job that was sucking away all my time, energy, and will to live, I started reading and writing again, and now I'm self employed. Life is better. Laid Bare will be finished!

The night air was cool, a brief storm having brought a little chill along with the rain. A light mist made Nick turn his collar up and over the wound on his neck. He brushed his fingers over it. Maybe it was smaller, he allowed. Maybe the holes Nate and Ellie were filling weren't just metaphorical. 

Ellie stretched as they stepped outside the Third Rail, a languid motion that pulled her sweater tight across her chest. His gaze hesitated on that little sight an instant longer than might be appropriate, but when he glanced away, Nate caught his eye with the sort of small nod that translated to _I have seen the thing you saw, and it was a fine sight indeed._

“Like to take a little walk, El?” asked Nate. “Or do you want to go back to the room right away?”

“Giving me time to rethink everything?” she said with a crooked smile. “I'm tipsy, not crazy. And I'm not even that tipsy.” She twirled, and the skirt of her dress flared, showing off a killer pair of legs. She laughed. “I'm giddy, is what I am. Nick's safe, I'm buzzed, Nate is acting like a gentleman. It's a fine night to be alive.”

He could have quibbled, could have argued that while he was many things, alive might not technically be one of them. He could have argued that Dweebo wasn't having such a good night at all. But at the core of things, he was relieved. The tape was safely in his hands, he had made it through the ruins of Boston without endangering the people he loved, and miracle of miracles they seemed to--

But he couldn't quite think it, couldn't quite make the words stick in his head. For everything they said, for everything they did, it still seemed so far removed from the reality of his life that he half wondered if it were quite real, if it was some random firing of electric signals as his consciousness dwindled back in the underpass.

But in his wildest dreams he couldn't have imagined that these two extraordinary creatures might want him at all, let alone enough to consider the arrangement that seemed to be on the table. 

Well. There was still so much that could go wrong, all the way from one of the tragedies that happened to people every day in the Commonwealth, down to something so simple, so likely as tonight ending up in heartbreak. 

“Spin me!” said Ellie, and reached out a hand to him, and what could he do but obey? He lifted her hand into the air with his good one and twirled her as she hummed a little tune, passing her into Nate's arms as the end of the spin. She laughed, a clear note of joy. Her nose and cheeks were pink, blotchy from the little bit she'd had to drink. The bandages on her knees were ratty and tattered, and there was the near-permanent ink smudge where she dragged her left hand through ink when she wrote. 

She was perfect. 

The Rex was too close. Too close for the panic rising in him to work its magic and send him packing. 

It was like being in the Memory Den, or in a dream. He was inexorably on a path, pulled behind Ellie by the hand. He hardly felt conscious of moving his feet, of smiling weakly when she flashed a brilliant smile at him. Nate held the door open for them both as they entered the Rex, and took Nick's bad hand as he passed, falling in behind him. But it was when they entered their room that his feet suddenly remembered stop as well as go, and he stopped short of where his secretary-become-girl...friend? drew him to her. 

“Nick?” she asked, a little note of anxiety threading through her tone. “You okay, boss?”

“I'm...” He extracted his hands from theirs and adjusted his hat, pushed his hands in the pocket of his trenchcoat and tried to look like a man who knew what he was about. 

“Ellie,” he said, his tone soft. “Sweetheart. There's a lot of room to get hurt, here. I don't want to... don't want to lose what I already have. I have _so much._ So much. It could go wrong, I--”

She took his hands in hers, gathered up the good and the bad, and brought them to her lips. “I know you, boss,” she said, and when she spoke, her lips brushed his knuckles. “I know you almost halfway hope something does go wrong, because it might be almost a relief, right? You're the kind to rip off the bandage all at once instead of waiting and dreading the pain. But I promise you, no matter what, I'm your girl. I'm your friend, and your lover if you'll have me. Your best girl, right?” 

He brought her hands to his lips. “My best girl,” he agreed. “And Nate-”

“And Nate can take care of himself,” said Nate, wrapping his arms around Nick from behind. “If you won't, you won't. But spare me the trying to spare me. I've been through enough shit that I think I have the right to try to be happy. If you've got no interest in us-or even in me-I can handle it. But I can't take being kept away from what makes me happy for my own good. Don't you try to take this from me and tell me it's for my own good.” Arms tightened around Nick, and Nate's cheek came to rest on his shoulder. “Did that even make any sense? I feel like I'm hardly managing to...”

Nick's shoulders slumped. “Christ, I don't want to disappoint you two. You beautiful-” he said, and his voice was as ragged as his skin. “I want to spare you that. And spare myself the heartbreak of nearly having something, and losing it again.”

“How in the hell could you disappoint me, boss?” said Ellie softly. “You're who I want. It just took me years to stop using you as the example of an ideal man, and realize I might be able to have the real thing. I want you. I want you to be happy. And I want to be happy with you.”

“I want to make you happy. But--” he extracted his hand from hers, and gestured. “I'm not sure that the bedroom is a place I can do that, doll.”

“Okay,” said Ellie. “Sit. Everybody, let's sit. It's time to talk really, really frankly about what we want like the two hundred year old adults you two are.” She pushed her curls back, and gestured. “I'm going to ask a few questions, and they're going to be embarrassing, and I hate that for you both, but if you're going to moan about protecting us, we need to do this. Nate is going to be really frank about his expectations as well. Right?” She plopped down in a chair, and gestured the two of them to the bed. 

Nick extracted himself from Nate's embrace, and sat with a numb, growing sense of dread. The bed dipped and creaked as Nate sat as well. 

Ellie looked up as though searching for guidance. He imagined what she found was probably just a stain on the ceiling. “Right,” she said after a moment. “Boss-” and she stopped herself. “Nick,” she said instead. “Do you have sexual desires? Or are we pressuring you into something you don't actually have a drive for?”

Nate's breath caught. “Nick...”

“Shh,” said Ellie. “Let him talk.”

“Jesus!” blurted Nick. “You weren't kidding about embarrassing, doll. Look, I-” He dragged a hand over his face, and tugged his hat brim. “I would have said no until recently. That I was happy. That I didn't need anything else. But--”

“Yes?” said Ellie, and the word was neutral, patient.

Silence reigned while he gathered his thoughts. “But,” he said. “But you two make me want. Make me remember what it is to want, to desire. It isn't quite the same as I think maybe it used to be. But it's real. And it's there.”

“Okay,” said Ellie. “Okay, that's, uh, good. I was afraid we were... pushing. Pushing something you didn't even want.” She took a long, steadying breath. 

“I'm so stupid,” said Nate. “I didn't even consider-”

“Shh,” said Nick. “Doesn't matter, doll. You can't hurt my feelings.”

“You big liar,” said Nate.

“Hush,” said Nick. “If you keep that up, everyone'll learn I'm just a big old softie.”

“Everyone who really knows you can call you for a bleeding heart from a mile away, boss. The tough-guy routine is for the clients and the bad guys,” said Ellie, and her face broke into a smile so bright, so genuine, that something deep in him felt warm. 

“Okay, so time for delicacy is probably way past,” said Nate. “You keep saying you don't want to disappoint us. We've made really clear that we both think you're an exceptional man. Kind, funny, smart, tough, and a thousand other fine qualities. So how is it you expect to disappoint us? Is it because you're a synth? Or because of--” he coughed delicately. “Equipment.”

“I don't know. Either. Both. You deserve someone you can have breakfast with. Someone you can listen to them breathe instead of hearing a woosh of coolant. Someone who isn't falling apart at the seams. Someone who isn't going to inspire an angry mob just by existing. Someone who's a whole man in every sense of the word.” The words tumbled out by the end. If he'd had breath, he would have been breathless. Distantly, someone whooped in the street, a cry of jubilation; a bet won, a hit found, a partner secured, and Nick had a brief flash of annoyance for their simple joy. It ought to be so easy to be happy. It ought to be. 

It never had been. Even in his times of happiness, the black dog was there, lurking at the edge of consciousness, a persistent reminder that joy was fleeting but failure lasted forever. If he was honest, the depression that sent him running to the Institute hadn't been new after Jenny's death, but had moved from persistent to overwhelming. The black dog had taken him in its jaws and shaken the life out of him. 

“What I want is a Nick Valentine. I don't care if he's ragged around the edges. And, look,” Nate said, shifting uncomfortably. “There are a million ways people can be broken. Or not whole. Or—shit. I guess the short version is that I don't care. I don't care that you're grey, or that you've been hurt. I think your eyes are beautiful. I think your kindness is beautiful. I think your voice is one of the sexiest things I've ever heard. And I know you can't be just worried about satisfying us. Because I know for certain you have an imagination. You'd be a pretty shitty detective without that.”

“Oh,” said Nick. “I, uh. I see.”

“Nate and I talked a little about other things, too,” said Ellie.

“I'll just bet you did.” 

“Like: I'm straight. Nate is bisexual. Nick, uhm, are you...?”

“I'm good,” he said with a shrug. “Not too concerned with the distinction.”

“Okay,” said Ellie. “So. Awkward questions complete. I think. With all of that out of the way, are you, uh...?”

He leaned over and patted her knee. “I'm fine. A little embarrassed, but I've been that before and survived just fine. Ellie? Thanks for asking, sweetheart. I know it wasn't easy on you, either.”

“The drinks helped!” she blurted out, and laughed. 

“Liquid courage,” said Nate. 

“Speaking of which, liquid courage is wearing off, boss. How, uhm. How should we get things, er... If you still... If you even want me, I mean... I mean it doesn't have to be now, just-”

“Yes, it does,” said Nick. He stood, drawing her to her feet as well, and pressed himself against her. “You stunning thing,” her murmured against her ear, and nipped it lightly. “I want you two as much as I've wanted anything in my life.”

And he kissed her, this time taking his time, teasing her lips with his teeth, threading his hand through her hair. Her hands found the front of his shirt and tangled there, drawing him down even as she rose up on her tiptoes. 

Nate had no such issue; in fact he was a shade taller than Nick. He turned Nick around, and pressed him backward so that Ellie had to move, pressed with his fingertips until Nick gave up ground, backing until his shoulders hit the wall. “I've been wanting to do this almost since I met you,” he growled. “Been wanting to have you up against a wall. Over that desk of yours. It makes me crazy that you think I might not want you.” His lips found the good side of Nick's neck, nipping, and he nuzzled his way up to Nick's ear, kissing the point where the synthetic panels joined, running his tongue along the groove. “Absolutely,” he said, and his lips found Nick's, pressing, insisting where Ellie had accepted Nick's lead. “Fucking,” he mumbled against Nick's lips. “Crazy,” he said, and he pushed a knee between Nick's thighs. 

“Jesus,” said Nick. “Nate-!” But the other man's lips still pressed against his, still traveled down his throat, brushing his collar. But it wasn't until Nate's hand found his tie and reeled him in that he honest-to-god- went weak in the knees. 

“Holy shit,” whispered Ellie. “I could watch that all night.”

“Yeah?” said Nate. “Come watch a little closer.” He hooked a hand around her waist and drew her in, kissing Nick and then her. And she was right. It was a sight to see, the tilt of Nate's jaw, the fine dusting of stubble, the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. He watched Ellie's eyes flutter closed, watched her melt into Nate's arms, heard her whimper.

The sound went straight through him, and he knew in that instant that he was in for it.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So. Here's the smut. I've never published any kind of smut before, so, uh. Yeah. 
> 
> Shout outs to the OP at the kinkmeme, and also Nicole because it got her all excited last time. ;) You readers are why I kept going when the going got hard on this thing. 
> 
> SMUT!

It was a funny life he led, Nick thought. An absent little flick of consciousness, of the tiny part of his brain running commentary in the midst of joy, terror, desire, and anticipation. And terror, the little voice reminded him. 

And then his entire attention was required when Nate abruptly stepped back, and Ellie more or less fell into Nick's arms. She made a little noise in startlement and steadied herself on Nick's forearms. “Beautiful,” he whispered, and she touched her short curls self-consciously. His heart hurt for her. He knew what it was to have a piece – or all – of your physical identity ripped away. 

“Short hair, long hair,” he said. “Doesn't matter to me, doll. Beautiful either way. Always thought your eyes were your best feature. Kind eyes in a kind face.” 

And damned if she didn't turn a thousand watt smile on him, and her eyes crinkled with happiness. “Got a good set of gams on ya, too,” he teased, and she laughed, her head tilting back and exposing her throat. It looked kissable, so he matched deed to thought, and put his lips on that lovely, slender neck.

It was, he thought, as she moaned and melted against him, a Very Good Choice. 

Nick knew a damn clue when he saw one, so he experimented with pressure, with teeth, by sucking, and before he quite made the decision, his hands moved to her waist of their own accord. His eyes flicked up, and Nate caught his gaze, giving Nick a little nod of encouragement. The other man's hands slipped around Ellie's waist as well, and Nick mentally thanked Nate for giving him a few moments with Ellie to begin to settle his nerves. 

Those hands played over Nick's, the good and the bad, caressing and rubbing his knuckles, threading their fingers together and cupping his hands as he squeezed Ellie's waist. Nate's fingers slid upward, under Ellie's vest, and without a second thought, Nick followed. She swayed a little between them, drawn first one way and then the other. Nick skimmed the sides of her breasts, and when they both grazed her shoulders, he and Nate made it practically a single, smooth move to push her vest up and back. 

And the first piece of clothing hit the floor. 

The dress underneath was as daringly low cut as he remembered it being; she wore the vest over top to “maintain respectability” but he found himself hoping she'd find it in her heart to be a little less respectable around the office from time to time. She arched forward as Nate did something behind her, moaning, and in a now-or-never moment, Nick moved to gently cup her breasts, and was rewarded with a sound that went straight through him, down to some primal urge, something that must have belonged to the original Nick and not to the synth body because there was no way the Institute had planned for this. 

Nate moved forward, pinning her neatly between them, and her hips rolled. She was so alive in his arms, so warm, and bright and perfect. He didn't deserve her. Her lips parted, and she mouthed his name against his jaw. She nipped and hung her arms around his neck. “Boss,” she said in a sleepy tone. “Better get this dress off me before I burn right through it.”

_Boss._

She smiled evilly, but the expression was practically lost in the moment Nate abruptly jerked her dress up and above her head. The tattered pink frock fluttered as it dropped to the ground, and there she was. Pale and beautiful, legs long and lovely. 

“No, ah, no panties,” Nick said, and cursed himself for the stutter. He trailed his fingertips up her side, and over her bra, cupping her breasts and thumbing her nipples. They just barely showed as darker through the threadbare fabric of the bra, but if the garment had been brand new, he would have seen them anyway, hard and tight against the fabric. 

“I _never_ wear panties,” she gasped. “Hate them. Stupid things never fit right.”

“I'm never going to get any work done again knowing that, doll.”

“You know why they don't fit?” said Nate. “Goddamn things weren't made with a perfect ass in mind.” He gave her bottom a light swat, and she squealed, a delighted sound. 

“ _Flatterer!”_ she said. “Liar, too. Oh!” she breathed as Nate unfastened her bra and eased it off her shoulders. 

She wasn't perfect. She wore a smattering of scars over her form from some childhood disease; on her shoulder was a radiation burn from some horror of her life before she was dumped at the gate of Diamond City; on her thigh was a scar that to him said teeth. She had stretch marks from filling out from a sickly child to a young woman with finally, finally enough food in her belly. He kissed the burn scar, and she smiled, cupping his cheek in her palm. “Oh, Nick,” she said, and her tone was soft. “You can kiss my scars and still not understand why I think you're beautiful?” Her arms encircled his waist. “Silly man.”

“Mmh,” he said, absently noticing Nate move back and lean against the wall. 

Ellie fell backward onto the bed, laughing, and toed off her shoes. The knee socks came next, and after a brief pause, the wrappings on her arms. He'd seen her without them before, knew the skin was scarred and discolored, same as her shoulder. He almost moved to stop her, to tell her she didn't have to unwrap those coverings on his account. What stayed his hand was not that he was afraid she'd take the gesture the wrong way, but that he couldn't bear to stop an act of courage. 

Her arms weren't as bad as she thought, scattered pink scars, some raised and puckered, some not. But she covered them up to make herself happy. He hoped she was revealing them for a reason as good. 

He didn't hesitate to touch them, but didn't linger there, either, and she quirked a little smile at him, an uncharacteristically bashful thing. Then her hand found his, and she pulled him forward as she leaned back so that his groin bumped her sex, and she ground against him. His eyes closed for a moment and he swallowed reflexively, a habit born of memory rather than necessity. Experimentally, he thrust, and in quick order he found that a rolling motion did the most for Ellie. And it was less the direct sensation than the overwhelming goodness of it, but his hips seemed to move of their own accord. His hands found her breasts, and he forgot, for a moment, to be self conscious of his bad hand in his hurry to hold her, to roll and tug those lovely breasts, those exquisite nipples between his fingers. 

“Nick,” she breathed. “Nick, Nick, Nick, Nicky, oh...!” and she shuddered like a machine about to come apart in his hands. He caught her as she shook, as her body gave little jerks

Nate caught his eye and nodded, and it occurred to Nick that the other man had been relatively quiet, had let him have his moment with Ellie, had been patient in the extreme for a man clearly set on enjoying himself.

He gave himself a moment to appreciate the play of Nate's muscles under his skin, the broad shoulders, the definition of the trapezius. Nick never been tremendously muscular, himself: memory suggested that the police detective had been fit, but wiry. If he'd had to pick a type on physique alone, Nate would have been it: he was built like an old world baseball player, the kind fellas joked had left the coathanger in his uniform. The shoulders, the lean muscle, the scratch of stubble on his jaw as Nate nuzzled against him would have been enough to satisfy, but so would the fact that this was Nate kissing him, Nate laying aside his pip boy, shedding his vault suit. He could have been bald as a baby and built like a fire hydrant, and Nick would have loved him for his courage alone. 

Nate tugged at his shirt, pulling the material up and free of his waistband. “You're sure?” he gasped. 

“Of course I'm sure,” said Nate. “Want you. Fucking buttons.” But despite his words, the buttons seemed to be coming undone too quickly to Nick. 

If he had to be honest, Nick would have expected the other man to flinch away from him once he got a better look. Despite the fact that both of his lovers had seen all there was to see—and what there wasn't—he flinched for a moment as Nate undressed him. The shirt and the jacket came off as one, and Nate's hand tangled in the tie. “This is what these are for, right?” he asked, and guided Nick into a searing kiss by use of a scrap of ancient silk tied in a windsor knot. A fumble against his belt and the button of his trousers, and the thin fabric fell in a rustle of cloth. He kicked off his shoes and stepped out of the slacks. There was nothing to do but hold his head up, nothing to do but to wait for one or both of them to back off. But then Nate's lips ghosted over his chest, and he drew Nick close. “Why the long face, detective?” he said, and palmed his backside, squeezing. 

Ellie sat up behind him, and her breath played against his back. “Silly man,” she said. “Relax.” 

“Give me a second to try something?” asked Nate, and Ellie grinned, flopping back onto the ancient bed. 

“Sure thing. I wanna watch,” she said languidly. “Watch my two boys. Beautiful,” she mumbled, and stretched. When she moved, her breasts shifted and Nick wanted nothing in the world so much as to cup them, to run a thumb over those rosy nipples again, to mouth the underside and see her shudder and writhe.

“Yeah?” rasped Nate. “Anything in particular you want to see?”

She smiled. “Show me what you want.”

And with that, Nate took himself in hand, slicking it with oil from a little tube. “And you think it's silly that I pick up everything,” he said with a wicked smile. 

“Consider my objection withdrawn,” drawled Nick. A shudder went through him as he watched the other man's hands caress and pull at his cock. He cleared his throat, another long ago habit. “Nate. Let me.”

Nate shook his head, that wicked smile growing blissful. “Just getting ready for you,” he said, and let himself go with a little groan. He stepped closer, and that beautiful cock bumped the crux of Nick's thighs. It didn't take a damn detective to figure out what Nate was after. 

“You want, ah... You sure you want to...?” he began, and then his thoughts fizzled. 

Nate pressed, his slick length sliding between Nick's thighs, the drag of it sending a shudder through Nick. “I want you,” whispered Nate, tucking his face into the crook of Nick's neck on his better side. “I want you,” he said again, and his teeth found a little bundle of sensors bunched there. Nick jerked against him, and got a satisfied grunt in return. “That's it,” hissed Nate. “Give it to me. I'll catch you if you fall.”

Falling seemed like an increasingly possible option. Sensors were singing with new information, passing along sensations the synth had never felt and never expected. 

Why did he even have these bundles? But the answer occurred to him as soon as he thought the question. He was a prototype. Somewhere between the second and the third oh-so-human generation. They'd modeled him off a man. Why not place the sensors in the same paths as human nerve endings? 

And then Nate pinned his wrists with his hands, pushing them above Nick's head, and conscious thought took a backseat to pure need. “Nate,” he gasped. And then to his astonishment, the next word out of his mouth was “ _More._ ”

Those magnificent hips snapped forward, and the slick member sent fire racing through his sensors. They found a rhythm, a rolling motion that made Nate pant and Nick writhe. His shoulders seemed to want to dig a hole in the wall. He was stronger than Nate; it made no sense that the other man's one handed grip should hold Nick so firmly in place. The other hand was on his hip, and that grip was no more yielding. 

Nate's breathing grew more ragged, and he buried his face in Nick's shoulder, biting the synthetic flesh and sucking. And--

\-- _she bit him, the little minx, her fuzzy sweater discarded on the floor. Her teeth left a crescent of bruises, and she blew on them gently, her lips a perfect red O. “Sam Spade,” she said. “Do me so the neighbors think there was a murder. Make me scream for mercy.” But she'd climbed on top of him instead, settling over his cock and riding it, and in the end they both made enough noise that the apartment below them had banged on the ceiling._

Nate's lips ghosted over Nick's ear. “Remember how I said I wanted to bend you over your desk?”

“Little hard to forget that one, doll,” said Nick, and if his tone wasn't quite his usual wry drawl, well, he could be forgiven under the circumstances. 

“Let's get a jump start on that promise, and bend you over the bed.”

“Ellie's on the bed,” he said, and if he sounded as muddled as he felt, who could blame him? 

“I think we can figure out somewhere for your face to go that'll conserve space.”

He jerked, and Nate chuckled, a throaty, deep sound. He tipped Nick's face up with a caress and kissed him. “Sound good?” he said. It wasn't really a question, Nick decided. More of a statement of fact. And it did. So much so that he almost feared looking at Ellie for confirmation. But her sweet, lazy smile was all he needed.

He laid himself across the bed, feet still on the ground, and braced his elbows between her legs. Her thighs parted before him, and when she arched and moaned his name at his first touch, it was more than just an invitation, it was nearly a demand. He stroked her open with his good hand, a firm and gentle pressure letting a first finger and then a second penetrate. When he lowered his mouth to her, he looked up, along her body, and those lovely eyes met his. 

His lips formed her name like a prayer. 

Nate touched his waist, his sides, never avoiding the tears in his skin, but never lingering with morbid curiosity either. His hips canted back and up at the touch, and those hands ran down the backs of his thighs before coming back up to rest on his hips. 

And for the first time, Nate hesitated behind him, gripping his hips a bit more tightly. “You like it? Between your thighs, I mean?”

“Doll,” said Nick, his lips still brushing Ellie. “Shut up and screw me already, won't ya?”

Someone—Nick wasn't sure who—made a noise, a little expulsion of air, and it was almost the sound of a man having the wind knocked out of him. Nate's grip tightened, and that oil-slicked member slid into place again, and this time the angle was right for Nate to find a real rhythm, to pull back on Nick's hips even as he thrust. 

For his part, Nick kept his thighs together and tight, and played against that unrelenting thrust, rolling his hips to match whatever Nate did, even as the speed increased, and the panted groans that fell from Nate's lips became more frantic. It was almost more than he could manage, Nate and Ellie at the same time. His secretary writhed under his lips, first pushing against him, and then sinking backwards as he made a come-hither motion inside her while his lips and tongue worked. He kissed the tiny nub of flesh, suckling and thrusting his tongue against it with first gentle care, and then wild abandon, and when she came, she did it with his name on her lips. Her feet scrabbled against the sheets, her hands found his head and neither gripped nor quite let go. “Nicky,” she moaned, “Nicky, Nicky. God, Nicky.” He pressed his advantage, sucking again, removing his fingers and plunging his tongue into her, and she laughed breathlessly, jerking away from him, overstimulated. 

He let her go as Nate's attentions grew more vigorous, and sensation became nearly overwhelming. It was good, almost too good. He knew how Ellie felt; he almost wanted to flinch away from Nate as both of their motions grew frantic. “Nate,” he gasped, and the other man's name fell from his lips again and again. There was a sense of building pressure, and then-

_\--his hand on Valentine's cock, a creak and groan from the mattress as--_

_\--her lips on him, hands cupping his balls and he called her name in a hoarse whisper as he--_

_\--with a final thrust he bucked against his lover, one long leg held by the ankle in the air, and for a moment that lasted forever he stilled and--_

Nick Valentine came. 

He came to his senses cradled in Nate's arms, and Ellie scrambling off the bed to get to him. It couldn't have been more than a second or two, but he shook his head, disoriented for a moment. 

“Fuck,” he said under his breath, and his voice was raspy, low. 

“Holy shit. Nick, Nick, are you okay?” said Ellie, frantic. 

“I'm real okay, sweetheart. Real okay.” He couldn't quite keep the lazy sound of total contentment out of his voice, even in the face of his lovers' concern. 

“You scared us,” said Nate, breath hot against his ear. 

“Didn't quite know that was going to take me that way. Or that it was even possible,” said Nick. 

“You came?” Nate said cautiously. 

“Sure felt like it.”

Ellie's hands flew to her mouth. “Nick, that's _fantastic!_ ” She offered him a hand up, and he stood on wobbly legs. “I wasn't sure you—”

“Me neither,” he said, and drew her into his arms. He started to ask Nate if he'd finished, but his legs were cold and wet, and the other man was sprawled bonelessly on the floor of the hotel. 

“Bed,” said Nick. There were a few minutes of shuffling around, of drying off so as not to leave a wet spot, and peppered through the mundane movements of coming down, there were moments of sheer bliss. Ellie's hand in his. Nick squeezing his shoulder, and his hand wandering lower almost with a will of its own. Kisses that calmed, and reassured, and grounded him. 

They made it into bed eventually, cuddling up with Nick in the middle again. Nate reached for a bottle of water on the nightstand, and as he took a sip, Ellie spoke. 

“You know, with enough practice, we could probably get really good at this!”

Nate choked, and Nick patted him on the back until his coughing stopped. 

“'Get good' at it?” he said indignantly, and she laughed a wicked little laugh, and leaned across Nick to kiss him. 

“You were beautiful,” she whispered, and kissed him again before settling against Nick's shoulder. “And so were you. You two were so... Mmm. So good.”

“Helluva end to a two hundred year dry spell,” Nick said wryly. 

“You're telling me,” said Nate.

“Psh,” said Ellie. “A normal dry spell isn't good enough for my boys. Gotta go centuries to impress them.” She reached down and rummaged through her clothes. “Got you something,” she said, withdrawing an only slightly crumpled half pack of cigarettes. 

“Sweetheart, you're an angel,” said Nick. He passed them to Nate to place on the nightstand. “I don't know what I'd do without you two.”

“Let's never find out,” said Nate. He heaved a long sigh, and settled in against Nick. 

There were other words, spoken softly as his lovers drifted off to sleep. Words of adulation, promises, gentle jokes. Nick let them all wash over him. He was sated, spent. He laid awake late into the night, listening to the soft sounds of their breathing. It was almost too much to process. It was more than he'd ever dreamed of having. He watched them until the morning light crept across them, highlighting Nate's hair, giving a golden highlight to Ellie's cheeks. He would do anything for them, he realized. Would do anything to protect them. 

Being in love was a nerve-wracking, wondrous thing.


	20. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long-overdue Epilogue. I scrapped three versions of this before coming up with something that made me happy. So here it is, and now, finally, finally, I can start the sequel. :D
> 
> Thanks again to all of my readers, especially the commenters, and most especially, my personal cheerleader, Nicole. Amazing readers have made all of this the most extraordinary blast. 
> 
> And here we go!

Epilogue

What surprised Nick, after, were the parts of his life that didn't change, and how what did change was often subtle. 

The Agency's doors stayed open in the wake of Myrna's trial and execution. There was no general rising up against synths in Diamond City. Her killing of poor old Abbot was enough to ensure her death. The Commonwealth had pretty simple views on crime and punishment; if you killed someone you probably ought to get killed right back. His role and Ellie's in the early parts of her plot was summed up in a few sentences at the trial, and the word of Connell, Nick, and Ellie was more than enough.

The pushed-together mattresses in the agency stayed pushed together, but moved upstairs in case a client barged in (even though Nick upgraded his habit of double checking the locks to triple-checking them). Less work got done at night, what with Ellie wanting to curl up against him in her sleep. When Nate was in town, life got a little more complicated, starting with a little good-natured vying to spoon or be spooned by Nick. Over time, even that got ironed out as the secretary and the man out of time grew closer. They loved him, though he'd never understand why, but one of the great and unexpected pleasures of this life or the last one turned out to be watching his lovers fall in love. 

It took months for Nick to be sure, but Nate gradually took Nick with him less and less, and when he did, the jobs were safer than before. And it wasn't that he didn't trust Piper or Preston or even Curie and Hancock (and, okay, he was never going to trust Danse's motivations) but there was no substitute for seeing to his lover's safety himself. It took a fight, the first real one since the morning after they'd first made love (and Ellie had let the two of them have it for trying to make her promise to sacrifice their well being for her safety again in the future) for Nate to treat him almost normally again. 

The biggest changes were, perhaps, for Ellie. Her lessons with a pistol started on the way back to Diamond City from Goodneighbor, and she turned out to have more precision than most, but less killer instinct. They went out a few times a week for target practice, and a few times just outside the city once Nick was certain of her aim and reflexes. But killing so much as a mole rat left her uneasy, though she practiced until Nick was certain she could handle herself.

And perhaps it was natural from there that he taught her to pick some basic locks, to hack a terminal, to listen to what people didn't say as well as what they did. They never planned for her to pick up working the small cases inside the city when he was gone, but it grew naturally out of her newfound confidence. But when Nick and Nate were in residence, she settled back into her familiar role as secretary and keeper of Nick's files gratefully. A life of adventure, she claimed, was not for her. 

And life settled into rhythms that were good, though rarely simple. Nate came and went, and Nick went with him when the time was right. 

Until, of course everything changed. 

 

* * * * *

 

The radio crackled, and Nate exhaled, a huff of air that rolled from his lips into the frigid, misty air of Boston's ruins. 

“Startled by your own radio?” drawled Nick. His hand twitched toward his cigarettes, but the idea of lighting a match in territory like this made him uneasy. Better not to paint a target on himself and Nate. 

“Hush, you. I'll have you know I was startled because I was fantasizing about getting my hands on you when we get back to the agency.” 

“Flattered, I'm sure, but try and stay alive long enough to make it there. Look sharp and all that.” He hung a toothpick from the corner of his mouth, a sad stand-in for his cigarettes. 

Nate fiddled with the volume of the pip-boy, then dialed in closer to the crackling voice. “Shit,” he said. Tension was suddenly written in the lines of his face, the set of his shoulders. 

“-this to repeat. This is Ellie Perkins with the Valentine Detective Agency with a message for Nick Valentine or his partner. We've got a new case and it sounds urgent. Stop by the office. I'll be waiting. Setting this to repeat. This is Ellie Per-”

Nate flicked the knob to Off with more force than necessary. “Just a case. Scared the hell out of me for a second.”

“It's never just a case, sweetheart,” said Nick. “Let's see what Ellie has for us.”

And with that, he turned up his collar, and stepped out into the misty Boston night. Behind him, Nate followed, stepping quickly to keep up. “Slow down,” he said. “I don't want to loose you in the fog.”

“I'm a hard one to replace,” said Nick. 

“Impossible,” said Nate. 

“Dealing with me or replacing me?” called Nick.

“Take your pick, Nicky,” said Nate. He darted forward a dropped a kiss on the corner of the detective's mouth.

“I pick both.”

“Well, isn't that typical,” said Nate in his best disapproving school-marm voice. “Mr. Valentine, I'm beginning to think you have trouble making up your mind.”

“Not at all,” countered Nick. “Sometimes both is a mighty fine option. And that's 'Detective Valentine' to you, kid.”

“Detective Nick,” said Nate, coyly. “Nicky? Nicholas? No? I have something for you to investigate, Mister.”

“Oh? And is that a new case in your pocket, or are you just happy to know me?”

Nate snorted. “Oh, I think you'll want to take this case.”

“I don't usually handle cases with obvious solutions, you know,” said Nick. “But in this case you might have something I'm interested in. You should present your case to my secretary, and she'll let me know if it's worth investigating further.”

A snicker. Then, “She sounded worried,” said Nate. 

“Tense,” said Nick. “She sounded tense. Whatever's happening, she doesn't like it.”

 

* * * * *

 

Nick drew his good hand down over his nose and mouth. “You're sure he said right here?” he asked dubiously, poking at the map on Nate's pip-boy. 

“Mind the equipment,” said Nate, just as Ellie said, “Of course I'm sure, boss.”

“Pretty far north. Out of my usual range, really.” But he kept looking at the map, studying it as though it possessed answers. “Got a little bit of a soft spot for missing persons cases, of course,” he added. 

“We know you'll say yes,” said Nate. “Go on and say it. I'll go with you.”

“Of course you will,” said Ellie. She smiled, a rueful, half-formed thing. “I've kept myself occupied while you were gone before. I'll take care of myself.” She kissed him, a soft, lingering thing. “You leaving now or in the morning?”

He met Nate's eyes. They had stayed up the night before, clearing a warehouse of raiders to protect a settlement, and Nate had slept through the afternoon.

“Now,” he said reluctantly. “Nate's rested up.”

“Oh,” she said. She looked down at the map. “Never been to the ocean,” she said. “Tell me about it when you get back?” She arched up into his arms, and this kiss wasn't soft, but heated. “I'll keep things warm for you at home,” she whispered, then squealed as Nate spun her around, and into his arms. 

His hands found her waist, and he drew her against him even more closely. She gasped against his lips as he hitched her upward, landing her bottom on Nick's desk. “Might take a few minutes, of course, to tie things up at the Agency,” he said, lips against her neck. 

“Might just,” said Nick as his hand slid up Ellie's thigh. “Always lots of things to do, er, last-minute when you're headed out of town.”

“Thank goodness,” said Ellie, and hooked a leg around Nick's calf. “Boys, I've got a couple of things you should look at before you go.”

“Nothing like a nice, hard case,” said Nate, deadpan.

His refusal to explain why Nick dissolved into helpless laughter only made Nick laugh harder.

“Hurry home, Nick Valentine.”

“What about me?”

“You too, Nate. Come back to me in one piece. Both of you.”

“Of course,” said Nate with a smirk, and a well placed hand. 

There was silence. “Nick?” Ellie prompted. 

He blinked against the sudden swell of dread that left him taken aback momentarily. _Come back in one piece Nick Valentine, said Jenny. Every time he left for work she said it. “Always,” he said. Every time. Always. Every time but the last, when he had a cup of coffee in one hand, a briefcase in the other, and a bagel stuffed in his mouth. He'd nodded, and crinkled his eyes at her in an almost smile, and left, his head already deep in Winter's End. And the next time he'd seen her, she'd been dying, her eyes looking past him, her hand clenching around his spasmodically until, abruptly, it was still._

“Nick?” said Nate, and there was a note of concern. 

He smiled, a wan thing, his laughter and delight in them gone in an instant. 

“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued!


End file.
